A Realm Reborn
by CasterWay
Summary: Based on the works of Jade TeaLeaf. As the bond of brotherhood tears itself apart, war looms over the Southern Realms. Heroes are made and heroes shall fade, and the sole path to a realm reborn lies between chains and blood.
1. Prologue I

**Prologue I**

* * *

It is oft said that many stories have a starting place. Slowly, these tales weave themselves, straying from their origins, wherever they may be, crawling in some other direction.

Two seasons before, one such tale begins in the Northlands, where the mountains tower and pierce the clouds, and the ocean waves are fierce and unforgiving. A warrior and a seer – an otter and a fox traversed from a falling sanctuary to a a rising fortress, and spun the wheel of fate with such vigour, that the sanctuary rose and the fortress fell, and the previously unmoving gates are creaked open. The two paid heavily with their valour, and soon they left the world behind through different paths.

Though _this _tale too begins on the shores of a sea, just like the last; it is seasons and miles away from when and where its origin was told. This tale, _our_ tale begins in a much calmer location, with tranquil seas and peaceful beaches, and a halcyon city amongst sea and sand. This could have been a place for one to rest, away from all worldly troubles. A place far away from the petty grip of politics and machinations.

A pity about the bloodshed.

* * *

**R****AE****VSVAKT, LORDSHIP OF MERAHOLMER, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD**

Raevsvakt was not in turmoil despite the blood. Not yet, anyways.

It was not a full-on battle – there were no more than a hundred beasts on both sides combined, with all casualties limited to one single building. Within the building, two beasts were running up a flight of stairs.

"Are you sure he's up there, vermin?" said the first beast. He was an incredibly tall beast, even for otter standards. Being more heavily armoured than his companion did not stop him from scurrying faster up the stairway.

The weasel next to him simply nodded at the otter, for he was out of breath.

he wasn't really trained in the ways of fitness and athleticism, so normally he would attempt to avoid physical exertion. But a friend in need is always a good driving force, and the fact that the friend in question may soon perish could have pushed him to his full limits, had the circumstances willed it.

The two beasts had just finished clambering onto the last floor when they saw the guards. Four guards standing in front of a single room was definitely a suspicious sign. The otter pointed at the door. "That's the one."

He drew his sword only to be stopped by the weasel. "Please wait, Lord Stalwart. We are outnumbered, and…"

"Then what do you suppose we do?" snapped the lord.

"There are alternatives to carving your way out of problems," the vermin replied. "It would be better for us to pull a page out of Thordan's book. Please wait here, my lord."

The weasel walked forward as if he was in a hurry (which is not strictly untrue), almost crashing into a guard.

"Who goes there, weasel?" bellowed the hareguard. He squinted his eyes, trying to pick out anything suspicious under the vermin's tunic.

"Quick! Do you not hear the sound of battle? Lord Crestworth is in mortal danger! You must hasten to him!" the vermin frantically said.

The guard next to the hare replied, "Lord Canute? In danger? Pah! With the _pup_ in here, not a'lot of beasts can toppl'im now!" He proudly exclaimed as he rapped his spear in front of the door behind him.

"Is the King of Parma one of them?" the weasel asked. "Last time I checked, he was down at the docks and crying for blood."

Ignoring the confused glares of his comrades, the hare was unfazed. "And why should we trust you? You're just some vermin who just ran here, somehow rushed right into the hold that we keep Lord Thordan in, and without anyone to vouch for you?"

"Easy, lads. He's with me." Lord Stalwart decided to show himself. "You should know that Lord Valdemar didn't call me up this blasted staircase just for a practical joke. The otterwhelp's grandfather is indeed here, along with his whole retinue. If anything bad _does _happen, guess what will happen to you?"

As a remarkably tall otter, Lord Alfyn Stalwart was an intimidating figure, even though the guards have never chanced upon him before. Even the captain looked shaked by the sudden appearance of the otter lord. He pointed to a hedgehog.

"Bertil, guard the lordling. The rest of you, follow me!"

The guards rushed down the stairway, leaving one guard and the duo. _Two to one is better odds than two to six_, thought Alfyn. But before he could draw his sword, the weasel handed a pouch to the lone guard.

"Here are a few dozen silvers. If you would kindly leave the spear and the keys to this room, _and_ if you don't go blabbering around, you'll end up just a bit richer. I you don't, you'll be down for the count for the whole day, if you would consider yourself lucky. Got it?" the weasel asked.

The hedgehog stared at the weasel's knives, and then at the otter's sword, and then at the staircase. His captain was long gone. He nodded, tossed the spear to Alfyn, scrambled his keys from his belt, and hurtled down the stairway.

"It wasn't that hard, was it?" the weasel said as he fumbled with the keys.

"So the vermin uses trickery and deception to get what he wants. Typical." Alfyn sighed, earning him a cold stare from his target. "Not that I'm complaining, of course."

"I wasn't lying. King Thordan is indeed here." The weasel indignantly said as he opened the door.

The dimly lit room strung a lone figure, blindfolded and tied to a wall. Forgetting their differences for the moment, both woodlander and vermin rushed to aid the recently liberated prisoner. Frayed ropes were no match for steel daggers, and in a few moments Lord Thordan Swalestrom was free.

"Given your history of blind hatred towards vermin, whatever made you two work together must have truly been something," sighed Thordan as he removed his blindfold.

"Thordan, Canute Crestworth has seized your lordship. He allied with-"

"I told you we know that!" spat the weasel.

"How long was I in here, Egil?" Thordan inquired.

"Around three days," the weasel answered, "during which Doman soldiers took control of the Isles because you thought the Crestworths could be trusted!"

"You do not have permission to speak rudely to your betters, vermin!" Alfyn exclaimed.

"Can the two of you calm down for a few minutes?" Thordan snapped. "If the Parman King is indeed in here, it could be a trap for him."

"Agreed."

"Let's get moving."

Satisfied with his friends agreeing for once, Thordan opened the door.

* * *

On the other side of the building, two grey-furred squirrels were finding for that same newly liberated otter. One was smaller and thinner, with him being younger by about two seasons. The other was taller, more muscular, and very impatient.

"Are you absolutely sure this is the right place?"

"Shhhhhh. Someone approaches. Hide!" Denebas whispered. Despite being the younger brother, he was born with more caution and calmness than Altayras.

The squirrel brothers scrambled under a few crates full of arrows, then watched as a few guards entered the armory.

"Now listen. While Bertil babysits the lordling up on Northern Tower, we have to prep up for what's to come. King Thordan will never go on any expedition without 'is blinkin' daughter, and that's the one you buckos have to fear! Get better armour and get the blazin' Gates out of here!"

There was a sound by the door, and in rushed a hedgehog guard, who was clearly panicking. Denebas was sure that he heard the clinking of coins coming from the guard's uniform.

"Captain! There's an otter outside! He looks-"

The guard was unable to finish his sentence, as the door was kicked open by an otter, slamming him into a wall. He was wearing light armour, and in his eyes was a wavering glance, which hardened into a glare when they came into contact with the hareguard.

"Who in tarnation are you, bounder?"

The otter never even opened his mouth. Instead, he thought that reaching for his spear would be a more appropriate reaction. _He's insane,_ thought Denebas. _One against five would not be good odds, and he clearly isn't going to back down._

It was Altayras, and not the otter, that made the first move. Picking up his spear, he sprang forth from his hiding space and drove its point into the hareguard. Caught unawares, the captain was unable to do anything but watch as the speartip entered and exited him within the span of an instant.

The otter shouted a battlecry incomprehensible to Denebas, then dove into the rest of his shocked foes. Two battle-ready beasts against four panicking guards seemed better odds to Denebas._ Make that three to four._

He grabbed the fallen hare's rapier and hastily prepared a stance, just like what he practiced back in Castle Burelas. But the fight was over long before that. Cornered and surprised, the guards simply stood no chance against the two spear-wielders. One of them fell after the otter slammed the spear into his neck, with blood splashing out onto the walls. Panicking, he rest made a break towards the exit, with the otter only able to stab one in the back. The other two sprinted out faster than Denebas could react, no doubt never to oppose them again.

It was at this inopportune moment that the hedgehog finally stirred from his unconsciousness, only to be greeted with the corpses of his dead comrades, the otter that had chased him around the whole shrine, and two squirrels that did not seem friendly in any sense of the word. He tried to bolt away, but lost his balance, falling flat on the ground instead. The otter swiftly flipped him over and pinned him unto the floor, then turned toward the squirrel lords.

"Apologies for the surprise. I am Erlend Swalestrom, Lord of Kaldos and Duke of Thavnair. You must be the brothers from Burelas, are you?"

"We have not met before." Altayras chose to ignore the question by asking one of his own. "How did you know?"

"Oh… King Garmund told me to keep an eye on you boys when he told me he will not be coming. Sending you two here was not really his best idea."

"Well, this is not the first time we struck into a fortified building." Denebas interjected, earning himself a hard glare from his brother. Ignoring the two siblings, Lord Swalestrom's attention returned to the hapless guard.

"Listen. We-" he turned his head to look at Altayras' cold glare, and settled on a slight edit of the pronoun. "_I _have no intention of hurting you, and I do not have the cause and the folly to do as such."

Bertil stared at the three corpses occupying the room. Two of their expressions were panicked screams, while the captain's look was no less undignified. He settled on defiance. "Funny. You seemed to have a different agenda on mind when you slaughtered half of us."

Erlend rolled his eyes. "Well, that was different. You see, you and your lord betray my son, nearly kill him, then lock him up in the highest tower in all of Meraholmer, then you have the _audacity _to request justification?"

The guard was clearly intimidated, and soon his next sentence faded into a whimper. The few beasts who knew Lord Erlend knew that he was a patient otter, slow to anger, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

"He's free now, my lord." The hedgehog grovelled. "A tall otter and a weasel forced me away from the tower. It is unguarded and they have the keys."

Denebas knew of the tall otter. House Stalwart may have produced two young, strong (and giant, even for otters) sons, but Lorcan Stalwart was yet residing in Arnet. It had to be Alfyn. But since when did he start to consort with vermin?

"And a weasel?" Altayras must have had similar thoughts. "Did the otter give his name?"

"No!" The guard gulped. "No. The weasel just gave me this before telling me to run." He held up a sack of coins, and the otterlord's eyes lit up.

"How did a vermin get his paws on such an amount of money?" Denebas mused. "Must be quite the thief."

"That is, if you stretch the definition of thievery a bit." Erlend responded.

"What do you mean by that?" asked Altayras.

"Lending large sums of money, and reaping the interests." Erlend clarified. "The marking on the bag says it all. I know the weasel well – I owe his father quite a bit of gold." Due to a number of unforeseen factors, Erlend was the first Swalestrom since his namesake seventy seasons ago to go into debt – a fact that was pointed out by both his elder brother and the squirrelking he had once bowed to. Whether if turning his back on Southsward and aligning with Triel was a good move remains to be seen, but Erlend has not much to lose.

"You honestly thought that borrowing from vermin was a good idea?" Altayras interjected.

"_Parman_ vermin, so he's double untrustworthy." Denebas chimed in.

"Well, the Parman king has got my back in all of this, so he would truly have it coming if he tries anything funny. I didn't marry his daughter for nothing, did I? Gates. I even named my son after him!" Lord Erlend and Lady Lorelei were married for political reasons, but the Parman king's sole daughter was quick to fall in love with her new husband, particularly after her first marriage to a much older beast. It would be a perfect match if one could excuse Erlend's constant infidelity. His brother Becker was a much better husband, and a more attentive father as well.

"If you would excuse us, we do have a lord to save. Let us never meet again." Erlend said with more than a hint of condescension, with the squirrels accompanying him, and the hedgehog still dazed, confused, and being utterly oblivious of what shall result from his multiple mistakes.


	2. Prologue II

**Prologue II**

* * *

**RAE****VSVAKT, LORDSHIP OF MERAHOLMER, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD**

Thordan muttered about how he despised stairs as he was trailing behind his companions.

In his defense, Alfyn and Egil were more athletic and trained in combat, while he was merely trained as a healer. Moreover, the two have not been locked in a tower for the past few days, thus giving them an advantage in mobility.

The stairway had been cleared of guards, and it was entirely devoid of corpses.

_Egil's work, _thought Thordan. _If this was left to Alfyn Stalwart, this flight would be drenched crimson long before they would have saved me._

"I see someone." Alfyn said as softly as he could (which, admittedly still was not very soft). To Thordan's relief, Egil signalled him to stop as the taller lord peeked across the corner.

"Two Crestworth guards. They're rushing towards us!" Lord Stalwart prepared his sword. Seeing that he was still unarmed after his captivity, Egil tossed Bertil's spear to Thordan, and the two braced for a bloody encounter.

"Wait. They're not actually chasing us." Alfyn broke the silence. "They're fleeing from someone!" All three of them (even Thordan) knew that a demoralized foe is much more easily put to rout, and Alfyn knew exactly when to take action.

"Arnet!" Alfyn waved his sword out and struck. Though panicking and fleeing, the targeted guard still had the presence of mind to block his attack with his spear. Before the second guard could land a blow on the lord, his own sword was blocked by one of Egil's daggers. The weasel's left paw twisted around, slamming the hilt of his second dagger into the swordbearer's abdomen – enough to break his concentration. It only took an additional stab before the guard was no more. Egil headed to the lord's help – only to find him pulling his blade out from the guard's chest.

Thordan simply watched as the fight ended as quickly as it begun. Being trained as a healer meant that he had previous experience with blood and gore, but in battle… _Why do my legs buckle up when beasts start killing each other? Swalestroms are supposed to be brave, for Fates' sake. _

"Alfyn!" A voice from far away called. Thordan slipped out from his trance to see three beasts running toward them. An enemy would at least attempt to keep their approach a secret, so they must be allies.

_Besides, who else but Denebas Burelas would wear a hat like that? The squirrel beside him must be his brother Altayras, and the otter next to them would be –_

"Thordan!" cried Erlend Swalestrom. "Good to see that you're safe and sound!"

Erlend was clearly surprised at his son's newly liberated state. It was indeed a surprise, though one that was much welcome.

_Oh. So he does care for me now. Actually helping me out for the previous three months would be a better idea. An even better idea would be not sending me away from home to accomplish a task well beyond my level, but who would have thought of that?_

"Are you fine? Did they hurt you or something?" the father asked. Seeing Thordan's nonplussed expression, Erlend struggled to find the right words to his son. "I should not have sent you here. I apologize for my lack of foresight."

Altaryas and Denebas briefly focused their attention towards the father-son duo before turning back to Alfyn's vermin companion. Erlend may have warned them of dealing with Parman vermin for the first time, but they have not entirely unjustified cause to be worried. After all, vermin were all untrustworthy beasts, and Parman woodlanders are even worse than the vermin they knew. Who knew what schemes the weasel could conjure up?

"How about we stop the touchy-feely fluff, and actually get into dealing with the Crestworths here?" barked Alfyn.

Altaryas nodded. "King Garmund did not send us here to see you two talk. We should get moving."

"It could still be a trap," mused Egil. "Betraying Thordan so overtly could be some sort of ploy to bring all of Southsward's enemies together, and destroy them in one fell swoop." He pointed at Alfyn and the squirrel brothers. "You three may even charged headfirst into it!"

"A trap indeed, but one of our making," said Erlend. "Lord Canute Crestworth lacks the foresight to play a long game, and all the messages that the old fool sent were intercepted."

Thordan sighed in relief. "The Southard support that Lord Canute claimed should be false then." When he was trapped up in the tower, Lord Canute gloated and gloated for hours, and Thordan was actually starting to believe that Lord Becker had planned the whole thing. "He will be in for a surprise when the wrong Swalestrom comes crashing in, and-"

A couple of looks from Alfyn and Egil signified that he had said enough, and he shut his mouth with the same speed as he opened it. Some have said that he may resemble his father in looks, but in mannerism he is practically his grandfather.

With all talk over, the merged group progressed forward.

* * *

Isangrim was fighting for his life for the first time in seasons.

The lutrine guard swung his weapon at the fox, causing him to take a step backward, before striking the otter with his own quarterstaff. A short, powerful weapon was the best way to counter a spear, and without a sharp edge, Isangrim's quarterstaff was even more vulnerable.

The grizzled black fox quickly rolled out of the way of a second strike, right after the otter has just evaded his counter. The guard simply saw through his intentions, and stepped on the unfortunate vermin's tail, pinning him to the ground.

The fox howled in pain and dropped his staff as the otter swung to finish him off. Not being able to react in time, Isangrim braced himself for a strike - a strike that never came. Amazed, the fox opened his eyes to see another otter - one that he knew very well.

The two otters can be easily differentiated. The first distinction would be that the first had his grip around a mace while the second had no weapon but paws, claws and the gauntlets surrounding them. Another contrast would be that the first beast was a simple guardbeast while the second was the daughter of the very king of Parma.

The final and most important difference was that the latter was standing and the former was but a corpse, to be buried alongside with his past and passed comrades. There is little chance for survival if one's neck has been snapped from behind.

"I told you to get a better weapon than some staff." Lady Lorelei snapped. Females have scarce been trained for combat, even in tolerant Parma. But Thordan (her father, not her son) was adamant that his heir be raised like any Skyward that walked before him and her. He had discounted the possibility of fathering a son back when his daughter was in the cradle, and talk was rife that him or his Trielian wife was infertile - rumours the king had paid no attention to.

"Well, at least mine can reach more than my paws can reach!" Isangrim countered.

The black fox was one of nine beasts King Thordan could trust, and for good reason. Isangrim may let his heart rule over his mind, but his soul rules over his heart, and his loyalty to King Thordan ruled over his soul.

Lorelei was a female, and so cannot be seated on the Parman throne. She was simply not likely to be chosen, and if the unlikely did happen she would simply not be accepted, along with both her foreign-born sons. The most likely candidate would be Canute Crestworth – until now, anyways.

"Can you two _not _argue for a slight moment?" the elder Thordan barked. Being the king of the wealthiest of the Southern Realms, Thordan was not a force to be trifled with. Parma was a kingdom of many realms, and a realm of many kingdoms. Thordan may have been a king before he had learned to walk, but he was able to adapt to intrigue after intrigue, and he was able to outplay (not to mention outlive) his rivals. Lord Canute Crestworth may have ambitions on the Parman throne, but those designs have never amounted to anything yet. Now he would be stamped out, blown away like a leaf in the wind.

"Forgive me, Your Highness, but I recall that we were the ones doing the actual fighting." Isangrim countered. To talk back at a king was a serious offense, but Thordan needed him for his plans, in more ways than one.

"You're not as old as I am, fox." Thordan countered. He used to be called 'the Child' back in his native Garlesca, when he was just a babe in the care of conniving regents. Now, he was a grey-furred otter with an eyesight that was slowly declining with his advancing age.

Thordan may no longer be a child, or a teenage lordling like his namesake, but there had to be some sort of charisma underneath his eternal grin. Isangrim once overheard his other grandson say that he had the stupidest grin in all the Southern Realms, and his half-brother had to content himself with a very close second. The king reminded him not to disrespect his betters, though privately he was chuckling for days like some toddler.

"Lord Crestworth may have good cards indeed, but he played them too early," the king continued. "One can predict his plans well before they transpire, even without being-" Suddenly realising that their presence should be secret, the garrulous king was eager to silence himself.

"Our guards should be engaging the enemy on the lower levels. Crestworth knows not of our presence,"Lady Lorelei analysed. "Please, for the love of Great Seasons, remain _silent_. You should not have come here, father. My son is just the bait for us to land here, and we may have landed him in a danger greater than ever before. "

"Your husband does insist that the trap was his to spring." Isangrim reminded her. Lord Erlend was a timid beast, so him being outgoing confident was an occurrence as rare as a blue moon. Something, or perhaps someone, has changed him either for better or for worse.

The fox had met with the otter exactly once, when Lorelei was wedded to the lord. His brother put his lot in with the Jaysians, so something had to be done to put his plans to a sudden and immediate halt.

"Now would be a good time to take action," Thordan said as he burst from the room. He stopped for a moment and nodded, then turned to his daughter. "Erlend may be more of a worrier than warrior, and he can be insufferably boring at times, yes. But he is no fool and he's seldom wrong. I have foreseen that Crestworth would regret all of this - if he shall survive that long."

"I do indeed."

The trio turned to the other side of the corridor. Lord Canute Crestworth was never an imposing beast, but under his poorly exterior hides a passionate temperament, expertly masked by the experienced lord. His guards were another story, as was usual with guards.

"You seem rather poorly equipped for a king. Gates. You don't even have enough companions to form a host of adventurers," the lord continued. "Now, would you please move aside to let us make our escape? Preferably to the left. I don't want anyone damaging my possessions."

Thordan sneered. "_Your_ possessions? Why couldn't you just be content just in a while? I am all too sure that the mighty Lord Crestworth has no need to covet all of three random islands." Both lord and king knew that this was but a figure of speech. Meraholmer was right at the median of Southsward and Parma, and a major node of trade betwixt Kaldos and Doma.

"Your Highness, you should have also considered the possibility that he _doesn't_ want these islands, and merely wants to trade them off at the first opportunity." Canute countered.

The sound of pawsteps were heard, causing the otterlord to shudder and dispatch a further two guards downwards with a gesture, leaving five at his side. Either that or the yelling and screaming.

Thordan saw his chance. "You two are in league. You and Lord Becker Swalestrom - the elder brother. Which is why I simply cannot allow you to obtain the Parman throne. Nothing personal."

The yelling got louder and louder.

"Nothing personal? Well, I can tell you that nothing could be more personal than an act of old-fashioned regicide," Canute drew his sword.

Thordan sighed, while Isangrim and Lorelei stared at him with anger and disbelief respectively. "That would be treason, and we would not tolerate it!" the black fox declared indignantly. "You lords really make us vermin seem noble! Savour your breaths, for they are to be-"

Isangrim was never able to complete his lengthy battlecry as two grey squirrels rushed into the room, followed by three blood-stained otters and a weasel. He knew two of the otters, all right. Erlend Swalestrom was hard to mistake in that suit of armour, while young Thordan was the only beast that never seemed to fight, instead hiding at the back of everyone else. The squirrel with a spear ran through a guard, and his body clattered onto the floor, just alongside the remains of another guard which the sword-wielding otter cleaved messily in two.

A mouseguard hastily swung his sword at Erlend, which he managed to parry, and trap the blade within the hooks of his spear. Before long, he succumbed to the weasel's dagger, adding another corpse to the ground. The remaining two guards tried to escort their liege out of the door, but Lorelei put her footpaw down literally, tripping the hare and leaving him defenseless against the third otter's blade. Isangrim pounced at the lord, hoping to cut off the absconding lord, but was simply pushed aside by Lord Crestworth's last guardian. He swept at the mole's legs with his staff, but the mole simply leaped away from the staff - and right into Erlend's spear.

After being surprised from a winning situation, Lord Canute was indeed trapped. So he simply did what any trapped beast would do - fling himself at the nearest enemy, who in this case was Thordan Swalestrom. Caught by surprise, the young otter could do nothing as he was knocked down onto the ground.

By creating an opening amongst all the chaos, the lord would be able to flee as fast as an otter could (which admittedly was not very fast given his advanced age). The much younger squirrel gave chase, scrambling out of the room and attempted to reach the lord.

A pity the traitorous lord was counting on that.

He spun his rudder around, slamming it into the spear-wielding squirrel's stomach, then swung his blade at the helpless squirrel, who lifted his paws to block what he could, while knowing that it was futile.

Had his brother not defended Altaryas from that fatal blow, ensuing events would have been rewritten, for good or for ill. But the rapier picked up from one of his fallen guards was able to run through Lord Canute's wrist before the blade reached its target. With only a narrow wrist to stop the blade, neither squirrel nor otter were able to stop the blade from progressing further into the otterlord's body.

As blood spurted from the otter's torso onto the floor of the hallway, Denebas Burelas simply stood shocked with his mouth agape while his first kill toppled to the ground.

**A/N: Hello! It's me speaking to you for the first time! I decided to pull a Jade TeaLeaf and communicate with you readers by Author Notes. (or Character Notes if the stories are narrated in first person) I originally wanted to wait until more of my chapters were ready before uploading the story, but some encouragement from a certain _someone_ gave me the courage I needed to bring **_**A Realm Reborn **_**into the light of day. Reading Jade's **_**The Blood Between Us **_**is not necessary, but ARR serves as a prequel to TBBU, and those who have read TBBU will know what will happen next. (but not why and how) The next two chapters will be uploaded two weeks later, as I will be on a slight hiatus next week. **

**Did anyone get the _The Chains that Bind Us _reference at the beginning of last chapter? Speak up if you do!**

**Feel free to ask any questions on your reviews! Don't be shy!**

**And most importantly, stay tuned for _Book I: Lords of the Whorl_ and its first chapter (**_**Fracture**_**) on 21/22 April!**


	3. Fracture

**Book I: Lords of the Whorl**

**Fracture**

* * *

**FLORET, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD**

Castle Floret may be in open panic, but Lord Becker Swalestrom was not.

He remembered that King Gideon entered the council chamber with more haste than was necessary. The squirrelking was followed by his recent appointments to the council, all of them mice. The otterlord had previously suggested a few squirrel or otter appointments to defy Triel's expectations, but his liege decided to bide their time.

The consequences of the Second Range War were catastrophic for Southsward. Southsward's armies crossed the Greatrange to secure its hold over Burelas and Deilart, leading to six seasons of border warfare. It only took a few victorious sieges against mountain forts for King Ferrant of Triel to be lured into open battle, and that idea backfired with surprising efficiency, as three losing battles within one season was able to force Southsward to its knees, and the Parmans were unable to assist them, being preoccupied with the Valnainers. Triel was able to finish her weakened opponent off by placing the Southard capital under siege, enabling a complete victory and total submission.

_Never again would this happen to Southsward. _

Lord Harmon rushed through his report about how Crestworth forces were cleansed out of Meraholmer, leading to a few surprised gasps from the other lords, and even the king himself. They even kept their surprised looks after the meeting was adjourned. Only the elder Lord Swalestrom's face remained calm, which was not usual for the volatile and lively lord.

The beast behind him tapped him on the shoulder. Garrion Swalestrom was almost his father's total opposite. While the father was outgoing and adventurous, the son was timid and cynical, with an overweening pride of his sticking out like a sore claw. Even then, he was considered more humble than Becker's two other sons, and for good reason. Even their dress reflected their differences. Both wore gold and blue, the colours of Southsward, as opposed to the red and silver of Triel, despite the fact that red was also an Otterguard colour. But Becker was in more official dress, with his medals carefully hidden back in Castle Terrace. Garrion wore what little accomplishments on his chest for all to see, to his father's erstwhile annoyance.

"We have indeed lost this battle, father." _If only Lord Canute could have waited for two or three months, _thought Garrion. _He could have gotten a crown on his head, but his rashness got him only a rapier through the chest. He is too rash to be a king._

"Not as much as Erlend would have hoped." The Swalestrom brothers were born in an era of peace, and proceeded to stir up conflict within the span of a few seasons. Becker, as the elder brother, inherited his father's old post of Skipper of the Floret Otterguard, while Erlend recieved his father's sworn lands back in Dravania. The two immediately took opposite sides when they came of age, as one was loyal to the cause of restoring Southsward to its independence, while the other saw it expedient to align with Triel to protect his Dravain interests.

The emnity between shared blood only managed to rise from there. The brothers supported opposing sides in the Parman War and cemented marriage alliances with both belligerents. Erlend was wedded to Lorelei solely for the Duchy of Thavnair, while Becker's marriage with Anzeka Baleblood grew into love on both sides.

"The death of Lord Canute probably means that our original plan has been sunken for now. Lord Valdemar believes that his father's death could be prevented if we had interfered, but he simply doesn't understand that we do not have the time and resources for a sea-borne enterprise."

"But Meraholmer is a highly strategic location." Garrion countered. "You told me yourself that whoever controls the isles will control the trade to Parma!"

"Trade? Southsward is close to war! We have better things to care about than trade!" Seeing the confused glares of the other lords, his tone shifted from a lord lashing out at his underling to a father educating his son.

"I know that you care about what happens next, but we should focus on the present instead of what is to come. Take a look. King Garmund of Triel only cares about keeping Southsward under his footpaws. Southsward is nothing to him but a route for safer trade, and a method to avoid the Jaysian toll over at Obring Strait! If something is not done, Southsward will simply be bled dry!"

"Father, I understand the situation will surely worsen if we don't break free just as well as you do! However, if Canute _did_ take Meraholmer, then your Trielian brother can be flanked!"

Erlend may be both a vassal of Southsward and Triel, but Gideon of Southsward simply did not have the force to bring him into true submission. Slowly and gradually, Erlend of Thavnair rose from a lowly second son to a massive thorn in the tail for Southsward and her king. Gideon would have had to act fast for the thorn to be torn out without any lasting consequences. He did not succeed.

"Then we can be simultaneously pummelled from both sides of the Sound. Great idea. Thordan Skyward may be old, but he is not senile. He could just as easily bring Parma into the opposing side just for a better trade deal. As if the ones we are forced to offer now aren't good for them already!" Lord Becker raged as he kicked at an invisible foe.

Garrion's eyes gasped wide while he realised what his father told him. Triel and Parma standing together against Southsward! What once had been a faraway possibility is now a possible fate for Southsward, and the Swalestroms (of Floret, anyway) would not let that happen under any circumstances.

Becker must have seen his reaction. "Worry not, boy. I'll patch up our relationship with Lord Valdemar in no time! But first, we need you to keep Floret safe." Looking at his firstborn's flummoxed reaction, he decided to elaborate. "Yes! You! You just need to check if the forts alongside the arena are adequately primed and ready! Godred's already begun to fortify the East, and Bedric has just arrived at the Greatrange, so it would be time for you to actually do something! We may not try to start a war, but we would do anything but that for an independent Southsward! For King Gideon and House Swalestrom!"

Garrion nodded. "Yes. But what are you doing in the meantime?"

Bedric grinned. "Planning! You couldn't just rush into independence without knowing what is going on beyond the Range and the Sound! Diplomacy is key to our enterprise for independence, and I might even have to head to Arnet for a better shot at it!"

Garrion gave a smile in return, but as he walked away to obey his father's orders, he couldn't help keep a thought inside his head.

_Why do I get the feeling that he's hiding something from me?_

* * *

When General Ralos was invited to a small gathering with King Gideon was to be held between them and Lord Becker Swalestrom within Castle Floret, the squirrel knew that he had missed something very important.

He had just returned after accompanying Lord Bedric Swalestrom to Fort Tiernan near the Trielian border and thought of taking a short rest when the invitation was discovered. Rumours were rife about islands invaded and lords slain, so he had every cause to be worried.

In fact the last time he was as worried as this was when the Grey Horde invades two seasons ago. It was his first test as the General of the Southard Order of Defense, and he swept the invaders back into the north after they were within seeing range of Floret. The situation was so surprising that both Swalestrom brothers, Becker and Erlend, ceased their plotting and bickering, and lead a pincer operation into Mossflower, liberating it from the vermin from the Lands of Ice and Snow.

_If only the campaign took longer for the brothers to reconcile, _Ralos thought to himself as he walked through the streets of Floret.

Fort Riddian and Castle Floret were on opposite sides of the city, so it took a while for the general to traverse through. Houses and cottages were closely packed together, and children were called back into their homes by impatient mothers. _I used to be a child like them, but I have taken more arrows than one could imagine. Gates. What good has decades of active duty done to me?_

He recalled as he and Lord Gavin Swalestrom stood alongside each other as their soldiers were cleaving their way into the Doman lines, while the young Prince Garmund of Triel rallied both Southard and Trielian together to stand against the mighty King Otto of Parma back at Balv.

Some would say that war was glorious, and there is no better honour than to die for king and land. Others would tell tales about war's brutality, how it wrenches friend and friend, father and son, brother and sister, husband and wife. But when he stood near his future enemies at Balv, celebrating with friends who could and for those who could not, he knew the truth about the nature of war.

_It was both._

He stood at the gates of Castle Floret as doorbeasts pushed them open. The castle interior was as well-polished as the hundreds of times he stepped through these gates, and the reception was as warm as a wet blanket as usual.

He ascended stairway after stairway, until he was met by guards, who let him pass after showing the invitation letter to them.

Only one of the three prepared seats was filled. Lord Becker calmly sipped his Parman damson as he noticed the General's presence. He was a beast of forty seasons, too young to fight alongside his father as he fought and died at Balv, his wounds festering so much that no healer would save him, but too old to be in open battle now. His brown eyes reflected the affability of his mother, and from this affability bred playfulness and mirth.

"Hello there," Ralos greeted.

"General Ralos! You were a bold one back in my father's days, and it seems that you still are. Please sit!"

_Flattery right at the beginning? Typical Becker. He wants something from me. _His tail bristled at his mental warning, and Becker caught onto the much older beast's confusion.

"You need not worry. King Gideon will come. He's dealing with a Parman messenger. Care for a glass?" Lord Swalestrom teased.

"Thank you, but that would not be necessary." The last thing Ralos wanted or needed was to wake up disheveled when there was so much to be done.

"I was away for the previous seven days, so could you tell me about what happened in Meraholmer?"

Becker's face contorted when the squirrel mentioned the island chain at the middle of the Sound, and his previously blithe tone faded out. "Lord Canute is dead, and my br- the Duke of Thavnair's son has been confirmed as the Lord of Meraholmer." He took a sip out of his glass. "All while you and I lay down idly, waiting for good things to happen. Brilliant."

Before Ralos can rouse the highborn from his atypical sarcastic despondency, King Gideon entered the room, and unlike the grand commanders of the armies of Southsward, he was actually in high spirits.

"Thordan's dead! The King of Parma is to be a threat no more!"

Ralos was shaken so much by the sudden news that he forgot to greet his king, but it also had the effect to revitalising Lord Becker. "Your Majesty, this is good news indeed. This calls for a small celebration!"

Ralos managed to compose himself. Thordan fought on his side at Balv, and was offered the Parman throne after Otto Crestworth was deposed after the battle. They were acquaintances once, but if his death would help Southsward in the long run, so be it.

"Your Highness, you wouldn't happened to have done something, had you?"

Becker spoke faster than the king. "No. We had no part in his death."

Gideon added, "He was old already, and his heart must be fragile enough from all that ruling. No wonder one day it just simply burst! But I would just like to ask you one thing." Ralos edged his snout further, waiting for the king to speak up.

"After all the injustices we have suffered from the paws of the Trielians, would it be better for Garmund to start a war than for me to start one?"

"It would appear to be so, Your Majesty." Becker affirmed. "Being the defender brings an advantage to the moral cause. All Southards would flock to join us!"

Ralos chimed in. "We cannot afford to fight an offensive war. It would be better to fight back with any allies we can gain than to be trampled under Triel after we get overconfident."

"I am indeed glad to see that you two agree with me. You must be ready for any Trielian declaration of war."

"We may not try to start a war, but we would do anything but that for an independent Southsward. It is my duty as Skipper to do what you order me," Becker added.

"Very well then. In order to achieve our goal of a free realm, we would have to commit acts that others consider to be extreme. Lord Becker, is reconciliation with your brother still possible?" The king asked from out of the blue.

Clearly taken aback by the question, Lord Becker forced his mouth open. "Alas, it is no longer a possibility. He is loyal to King Garmund just as I am to Your Highness."

"Then he is Triel's weakest link. Lord Becker, there will be no opportunity to earn your brother's forgiveness after this moon ends. You two can return to your residences, and we have mere days to prepare evreything for anything."

Had Ralos knew what was playing out in the heads of the two younger beasts, he would have retired from his post and fled to the ends of the earth, hidden from all that would seek to abuse his talents. For unbeknownst to the veteran squirrel, this is the exact moment where the crumbling peace fractures completely, burying the two kingdoms within a bloody spring.

* * *

**A/N: Happy Easter! Sorry for the hiatus last week. I did not have access to my laptop, and posting on my phone was a risk I cannot take. **

**We finally get to Southsward! Yay! It is a very different place from the Southsward you know, as hundreds of seasons have now passed. ****King Gideon, Becker and Garrion are Jade's characters, Garrion appearing in a flashback in Chapter 32: Intermission III of TBBU, and Becker was mentioned in the same section. I fleshed them out, and added names to Garrion's two brothers who were hinted in TBBU, and their mother as well.**

**Killing off King Thordan was a necessary step, as the plot simply needs him dead. You'll get to see more of him in future chapters though, so don't worry! How? You'll see soon enough!**

**Chapter 2 (**_**Weight of a Whisper**_**) will be out on 24/25 April (back on track)!**


	4. Weight of a Whisper

**Weight of a Whisper**

* * *

**VARGO, LORDSHIP OF VARGO, KINGDOM OF OTHARN, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA**

Thordan (no need to confuse him with his grandfather now) had been invested with a lordship, betrayed, rescued, and lost his grandfather within the span of a mere ten days. Egil pitied him.

After King Thordan's funeral, the normally bright and talkative otter had shut himself in his room for hours, weeping the heavens out, and the weasel didn't blame him. This kind of stress would have driven anyone mad.

He had known him for three seasons, beginning as a mere pawn in his father's debt schemes. Having been fostered in Triel for much of his childhood, the otter was eager to make a new friend, Thordan was (unpleasantly) surprised when he found out that his servant was a 'mere' vermin, but the otterlord was exactly the beast that will stoop to any form of companionship, and he soon managed to coax the shy weasel out of his figurative shell.

Thordan was exactly the kind of beast to get himself into trouble, but all of his misadventures were unwilling, dragged into them by his half-siblings from both sides of the family. He would much rather read a book, and share it with his friends later.

It was simply good fortune that he ran into Lord Stalwart in Raevsvakt. He was in Kaldos with his brother-in-law when Thordan's letter reached him, and he simply took a ship to the port city. Lord Canute was a fool to crow about his 'victory', sealing his fate at the paws of a young Trielian lord.

After he had slain the rebel lord, Denebas Burelas was quick to fall into shock. He clearly has not killed prior to that. Thordan may have calmed him down after the incident, but now even the otter was in a similar state.

As for Lord Alfyn Stalwart, he went with Erlend back to Arnet. Council meetings in Triel were usually held by mice and mice alone, but King Garmund of Triel was desperate for all allies, and Alfyn had a sister wedded to Erlend's _other_ son.

Lord Sigurd bore little resemblance to his father in temperament. While Lord Erlend was quiet and unassuming, Sigurd was loud and boisterous - a born leader compared to his father and half-brother. His sister was as quiet as his father, but she had more emotional capacity than her father and twin - almost as much as Thordan, in fact.

Lady Lorelei was not delighted to see that her husband had been unfaithful prior to (and as it turned out, during) their marriage, though she remained devoted to him. Her love for him may be monodirectional, but she was able to gain his trust and, more importantly, his friendship after a few seasons.

Egil felt for her as well. To fall in love twice yet not to be loved even once was a fate he would not wish on his worst enemy - not that he had one. His own parents may never have wed, by at least they frequently showed affection to each other.

He checked his letter for any spelling mistakes, then went on his way to the aviary to notify his father of the recent developments in both Meraholmer and Thordan. Writing about the emotional turbulence of a friend may not be an easy task, but it is at least better than orally transmitting information about the emotional wreck that was Thordan.

He opened the door of the aviary to see Lady Lorelei watching her own bird soar from the castle. He slid into a bow, though his movements seemed to be more rushed than anything. "My lady, did I disturb you?" He inquired politely, before suddenly recalling that she was now the Queen of Garlesca, and 'Her Ladyship' would not be the appropriate style any longer. _You should have thought before you speak, you pigeon-brained fool!_

"No, no. Not at all." The otterwife replied. _Did she simply forget about styles and honours, or was she just simply too sad to care about formalities? I would say that it would be the latter._

The weasel was quick to change the subject. "Thordan is still mourning. For days he has only taken nothing but bread and water for all three meals, as if his hare-like appetite was simply sucked off. I...I am worried for him, Your Highness."

The Garlean Queen decided not to reply directly to the vermin servant's worries. "Has he been taken ill, or is he merely grieving?"

"The latter case is true, Your Highness."

"Then let it be known that I, his mother, who just happens to be Queen of Garlesca, Duchess of Thavnair, and Lady of Vargo commands her son to return to his lordship this instant."

Egil shuddered at her tone, then looked at her face. _The warrior's look! _This look was absent in both Thordans, but it is shared by both Queen Lorelei and her Truetide firstborn.

She must have sensed the weasel attendant's trepidation, and soon her voices returned to a more gentle, motherly tone. "Here. I'll handle your letter. It's to your father, right? Don't worry. My husband will not default on his loans yet - not when his situation is this precarious."

He handed her his letter, calmly walked out of the doorway, then ran through the hallways like Vulpuz himself was chasing him. _How could she not give anyone the creeps?_

* * *

Thordan II, High King of Parma, King of Garlesca, Otharn and Ilsabarna, ex-duke of Thavnair, and Lord of Vargo and Further Garlesca was dead.

His servants chanced upon him at dawn, when he was in bed, with a serenity in death that he was never able to achieve in life. For sixty seasons he was king of merely his mother's Garlean inheritance, his father's domains left to his uncle. He had managed to gain Parma after allying with the Trielians, and much less bribery than he expected. This was what he told his daughter, anyways.

The Kingdom of Parma was not like those across the Sea. Seven nobles gathered in Kurburg, and they discussed, plotted and connived until a king was chosen amongst them. In the previous century, however, the Lords of Vargo produced every single king aside from Otto of Doma, whose defeat at Balv signified a revival of the Skywards of Vargo.

Otters have ruled Parma since the great-grandfather of Thordan II got himself elected, ironically enough due to his lack of power. Within three kings and a century of incredibly opportunistic marriages, they have managed to obtain true control over Parma - something no previous king has ever done in over a hundred seasons.

With the last Skyward in the male line deceased just days after Otto's eldest son, Parma would be thrown into a crisis beyond every measure. From this chaos springs both opportunity and perdition.

Niels Crestworth, Lord of Hvidvande knew everything above, except for that last bit.

The younger Lord Crestworth had played no part in his brother's foolish scheme to defraud Meraholmer. He had been taken under one Thordan's wing, and he had did the same to the other. The art of healing was not considered to be a suitable discipline for a lord, but he studied and studied until he was said to be one of the masters of the science of restoration.

_The only person who would say that Lord Niels Crestworth was not one of the best healers ever to live would be Lord Niels Crestworth_, thought Isangrim. _Which makes him another name on King Thordan's list of trustables. _

He has ambition only to serve, so Thordan appointed him as Royal Vicar if things went the wrong way. And went the wrong way they did.

Events have gone awry the moment Thordan left this world and into the next. The inexperienced Niels quickly proved himself as incapable of healing a nation as he was capable of healing a beast, so he had to turn towards the unexpected for the slightest bit of help.

Which drove him into the paws of Isangrim the fox.

"His majesty always spoke highly of you." The fox paced around the room as he continued to analyse the situation. "Your gift for healing is unsurpassed, and you have obtained much experience in diplomacy and statecraft. Negotiating a peace with the Valnainers after five seasons of war would simply not be done without you."

Valnain lay at the southeast edge of Parma, so the southern kingdom breaking into revolt occurred periodically even before the Skywards took the throne. The first Thordan grudgingly accepted a white peace after his force was annihilated at Cleignan, and the his grandson and namesake was denied a decisive battle. Thanks to the influence of peaceable beasts on both sides (in which Niels was one of them), Thordan II was content to see a few lordships annexed to direct Parman sovereignty as dictated in the Treaty of Lorsa, and troubled the southern kingdom no more until his passing, focusing on bringing rebellious Ilsabarnese cities to heel.

"I am just a beast with no talent but loyalty to the old king. It is a true wonder that your lordship would ask for help from me."

"The situation can worsen to a higher degree if I do not ask for help. You know full well why Thordan trusts you." _Although the true reasons are only known to him and you. _"You have led his troops in both Valnain and Ilsabarna, and you are a strategist of the highest caliber."

The younger Lord Crestworth studied the sable-furred fox. He dressed quite simply for a royal servant, wearing a simple brown tunic and trousers, and his pale blue eyes revealed not determination or kindness, but some sort of hidden knowledge, not unlike the trivia young Thordan liked to spout, but kept more secret. He was, in a way, a walking, talking forbidden tome.

Thordan found the fox ten seasons after Queen Lorelei was born, and quickly took to him as one of the rare beasts he could always confide in. Strangely enough, he deceived other beasts less than any average vermin. In fact, Niels had never seen him break his word even once - an admirable quality that he has not seen in either of his own brothers.

As a child king, Thordan II would simply wander out into the streets to be free from grasping regents, visiting his subjects incognito at first, before doing so more openly once he knew how to fend for himself. The old king quickly gained the disapproval of his subjects by inviting commoners, woodlanders and vermin alike, to his wedding. His Trielian in-laws saw vermin as nothing but slaves, so were doubly embarrassed by Thordan's antics. Thordan would later say that he would carry the memory of the Trielian king's face to his final day, but no one now knows if he did.

"Oh? Parma needs not diplomats like you, nor militarists like me. The realm is in desperate need for administrators - beasts like Queen Lorelei, but I suppose you're too shy to ask her - for quite obvious, not to mention personal, reasons."

Niels folded his ears and fumbled for a response while Isangrim grinned. Before both of her marriages, he was barely able to pick up the courage to propose - and get rejected twice in the most brutal of manners. Lorelei was quick to joke on the hilarity of the situation. Niels was not.

The otterlord changed the subject quickly. "So who do you think should be High King?"

Isangrim shifted into a more serious tone. "Hmm… I don't have much of an idea, but Lorelei has plans to nominate her husband for the throne." Ignoring the otterlord's aghast reaction, the fox continued, "He would be a better candidate than both her sons. Thordan is simply too young, and Corrado is content with his Duchy of Garlesca." His voice began to lapse back into mirth. "Just how many places are called Garlesca anyways?"

Niels was not in the mood to joke anymore. "Erlend as High King? That would surely draw us into war! It is common knowledge that every single enemy of Southsward is connected to him in some way! Parma cannot afford a war! You know that as well as I do!"

Isangrim reverted to a more serious inflection. "And you are going to do something about it, I presume."

The otterlord sighed. "Yes, I suppose I am. As Royal Vicar of Parma, it is my duty to summon the Electoral Princes to Kurburg. If four in seven of them vote for any single beast but the Swalestroms, it would be enough. Queen Lorelei needs to be crowned in Imlizze before she would cast her vote, but she will have to respect the other voters' wish for some other candidate. Two of the Electors are Crestworths as well, so they would not vote for Erlend. That leaves four beasts, who all want a king as weak as possible."

Having heard enough, Isangrim asked, "Who are you going to support?"

Niels shaked his head. "I haven't thought of that. I do not have the right to choose who sits on a throne - I only have to govern the realm in an interregnum. Not that I want to, of course."

Isangrim knew exactly what to do. "Call them. Call them to Kurburg now, and waste not a moment of time." Niels quickly nodded, then walked out of the room, unsure of what this chaos will bring.

With the door closed, Isangrim finally had some time to adjust to this recent development alone.

_Niels does not want Erlend nor Becker, hmm? We would have to act fast before anything happens to our plans._

He spun out of the room and clambered up a tower. _Lorelei would be in for quite a shock, seeing the beast that loves her still derail her plans, but she will triumph in the end, as every Skyward before her has done._

_For it is etched._

* * *

**A/N: Back on track! All the April chapters were actually completed before 7 April, as I had to write fast to avoid writing in exams. Isangrim was a relatively new character, having been devised mere hours before Prologue II, so he lacks development compared to, say Garrion, Young Thordan, and the Burelas brothers, amongst other beasts. I had to add more scenes for him to display more of himself. **

**Being the least developed of the three kingdoms (it is only mentioned in TBBU), Parma deserves a chance to be fleshed out as much as Southsward. Just to be on the safe side, the next chapter will come from a Trielian point of view.**

**Sebias: Well, my writing can be over-formal at times, though we're lucky for it to fit the situation here.**

**Grey: Thordan dying was necessary for the grand scheme of things. Don't worry! You'll get enough of him later on! (Only otters get surnames in ARR, so mice, squirrels etc. do not get house names. Just like in the original Redwall books.)**

**Chapter 3 (_Silver Tears_) will be out on 1/2 May!**


	5. Silver Tears

**Silver Tears**

* * *

**ARNET, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF TRIEL**

King Erlend Swalestrom felt like the unluckiest beast in the Southern Realms, which, of course, was no mere exaggeration.

He was usually calm and mild-mannered, slow to anger and rage. Before Raevsvakt, the last time he was truly livid was at Redwall, leading the Otterguard to victory for the last time. Now, he has lapsed into that same self-destructive fury thrice within a fortnight.

The first was when he found out that his younger son was held hostage by the Crestworths, thus causing him to personally retrieve his charge, like any model father would do. He might not prefer Thordan as compared to his other two children, but Lorelei's child was still his responsibility. Hence the rampage he went on Raevsvakt.

The second was when the other Thordan died at the worst possible moment. King Thordan of Parma considered making him King of Otharn (thus designated heir to for quite some time, and he had plans for his election while the Parman king was still alive. Needless to say, Thordan's death burned the Parman scheme to the ground, and the electors would not consider letting his young son on the throne. Lorelei, for all her faults, was still very much loyal to him, and he had already obtained the Garlescan throne by his marriage, despite his love towards another beast.

Which brings him to the third time he was angry. As far has his rages go, the first two times he was irked, the second time he was vexed, and now he was well and truly furious.

_No one short of the poisoner deserved to die in such a manner._ Sigrid had been administered a rare substance that does not even attempt to hide its symptoms. The unfortunate victim first emitted blood from the nose, then from the mouth, and finally from the ears and even eyes until there was not a single drop remaining the body. _Who could have done this?_

For the first time in what seemed like ages, King Erlend of Garlesca felt helpless.

And so he wept like a child. Exactly like his son Thordan when his grandfather died - and in a lot of other circumstances.

_Sigurd would surely be devastated. _His son was always close to his mother, and restraining him will be as hard as holding back the tears steadily flowing from his green eyes. He may be a strong child, a better warrior than his other son, but all beasts have their weaknesses, and tragedy hits beasts hard right in them. _And what of Sigrun? _His only daughter may hide her emotions and insecurities behind a straight face, but she too will be devastated.

_Great Seasons, what is to happen now?_

Before he had finished the question, the answer was there in his mind. And he did not like it

* * *

"She's absolutely adorable!"

Lord Lorcan Stalwart felt like the luckiest beast in the Southern Realms. Married to a beast who loves him and was loved back was a rare fortune for a lord, but Jehanne of Graille fitted into both of those categories. No lady would fit Lorcan better than the Valnainer. She had all the necessary virtues of a proper lady, and some of the unnecessary ones as well. Lorcan only knew of one such lady who was more important to him.

In his wife's arms lay an infant, no more than a month old. After nine months of waiting, Lorcan Stalwart was finally able to celebrate the birth of his first child.

Lady Lenorra was certainly a blessing on the Stalwarts. From hundreds of seasons of observations, it is known that beasts of exceptional height were infertile, so Lorcan and Alfyn Stalwart were not expected to have a lot of, if any children. The Stalwart twins were always close, despite their differences. Their father named the firstborn after a legendary warrior, and the younger son after a no less famous healer. The names could not have been more ironic. Without his brother's prodding, Lorcan would simply not have went to his daily training sessions, preferring to spend his time in libraries, his snout buried deep into books and tomes. Alfyn has all the necessary skills to be a soldier, as shown by his muscular physique, contrasted to his brother's lanky build.

During his childhood in Arnet, Thordan Swalestrom said that beasts could ask for no better leader than Alfyn Stalwart, and no better friend than Lorcan. Thordan left Arnet after Lorcan's wedding, then spent the five seasons after wandering between Vargo, Floret, and a certain Redwall Abbey in Mossflower, with his final destination being his insular lordship. Lorcan always wondered why the boy chose to stay in Mossflower for the last two seasons, before his father summoned him back. Maybe he could not stand the Southern heat. But then he would have stayed in Floret with his uncle Lord Becker, which Lord (and now King) Erlend has no desire for this to happen. Or maybe the ever-curious child was awed by Mossflower and everything in it, which was most likely.

His daughter began to cry again. This may be Jehanne's first trial as a mother, but so far she was not failing in her ever present duties. After much comforting, the babe was lulled into her slumber once more.

"She's not as large as you are," teased the Valnainer. Her family has provided a number of brides for the other realms, most notably the mother of the younger Swalestrom brothers. Though this was their first pact with a Trielian lord, the tall, handsome Lorcan Stalwart soon proved to be a dedicated husband, neglecting his duties as Lord of the Trielian Otterguard for his wife and daughter's sake - to the chagrin of his ever hardworking brother.

"At least she's not going to bump her head into every single doorway like I do!" Lorcan joked.

They had played with their child for half an hour when their was a knock on their door.

"Who's there?" shouted the lord, clearly not happy at being disturbed from his leisure.

"King Garmund has called for a council meeting, and you are to attend immediately."

* * *

Duke Altayras Burelas stood as the seats were tamed by different lords. The squirrel may be barely twenty seasons of age, but his trip to Meraholmer had left him precious battle experience, which he will hold truly until the end of his life.

His brother insisted on staying in Burelas after his slaying of the traitorous Lord Crestworth, and Altair did not blame him. Slaying a lord was quite an offence, and Canute Crestworth was one of the seven Electoral Princes of Parma, making the consequences of Denebas' act of desperation multiplied by myriad times.

The squirrel lord recalled the events on the insular castle. _How did I not see Crestworth's attack coming? I need to stop falling for the most basic of traps from now on. Caution is key._

A familiar presenceappeared in front of Altayras. Erlend Swalestrom was definitely in a bad mood, not as calm and confident as when they met in the Raevsvakt armoury, but a swirl of anger and rage. _Something bad must have happened to him._

A few lords hurried to Erlend, no doubt inquiring about his recent Garlean accession, before hardened glares from the otter prematurely silenced them.

Altayras turned around only to bump into a tall otter. "Lord Alfyn?"

The otter chuckled. "No. I am just his less famous brother," he joked self-deprecatingly. "You must be Lord Burelas. You fought bravely at Raevsvakt. King Erlend told me all about you!" He turned to face the beast that he just mentioned. "Do you know what has gotten into him?" he asked.

"I have no idea what happened. I only know that he is not in any good mood, and it would be very unwise to approach him at this moment."

"Unwise indeed!"

Lord Lorcan leaped in surprise at the sudden appearance of his twin. "Alfyn! Could you just stop startling me for once? Lord Burelas and I were having a discussion on a quite serious matter."

"A serious matter? Last time I checked, you were not the sort of beast to make remarks of higher-ranking nobles behind their backs. Maybe you should try approaching him and see what would happen."

"To put it plainly, that would be plainly suicidal. I would not throw away my life in that manner." Lorcan remarked.

"Yeah, yeah. 'We only have one candle of life to burn', or something you found in your books." Alfyn quibbed.

Before Lorcan Stalwart was able to provide a lengthy an unwanted analysis of Oriel the Southard and his plays, the trio's brief conversation was put to an end by the herald's booming voice which signalled the arrival of King Garmund. All the present lords quickly returned to their assigned seats, and bowed their heads at the sight of the King of Triel.

King Garmund was not a beast of emotions and words, believing that actions speak louder than either. A pinched scowl was eternally sculpted on his face, and the heavy crown and robes seemed to suit him well, just like all kings of mighty realms.

"Your Majesty." All other beasts, whether they were high-ranking mouse lords or militant squirrels and otters, chorused in unison. But the king clearly had much more important matters to deal with.

"I have summoned all of you here for one sole purpose. Lord Becker Swalestrom has tidings to bear from our _sister kingdom_." He spat the last two words with the utmost contempt, like speaking to a rebellious child.

The doors creaked open, and with it entered a smug otterlord clad in white. _The colours of an emissary, and under the protection of all laws, Southard or Trielian, _Altayras remembered.

"Greetings, Lord Swalestrom. You must be exhausted, travelling from the northeast for such _great_ a distance. Southsward is a kingdom most populous, and her diplomats are numerous and filled with talents. So tell me, what brings you, of all the beasts of our fellow realm, to Arnet?"

"I have come instead of Lord Harmon because of a reason common to all realms, large and small. The better, more trained diplomats are sent to the dignified and respectable states, and the tactless and incompetent are sent to states doomed to perish."

He pointed at the Garlean king and continued. "As my brother, the King of Garlesca might tell you, there is no single beast more bumbling and graceless than me. Even a vermin would be a better choice for a delegate. This is why King Gideon sends me here, _of all the beasts of your fellow realm_."

The council chamber erupted into a clamour. The mice lords turned to each other and discussed in shock, unable to comprehend that the weaker kingdom's envoy humiliated their kingdom in the most open of manners. The Stalwarts sat wide-eyed, and Altayras was simply confused by the entire thing. Only both kings remained impassive, their glares betraying not even a shred of emotion.

"Anyways, I am here to ask a simple question. Your Majesty, _with your infinite wisdom_, only need answer this inquiry."

The chamber died down rapidly, so much so that even snowfall could be heard.

"If the Kingdom of Southsward plans to reassert its full and independent rule over its own territories, with no need for further Trielian _guidance_, would you allow for the aforementioned events to ensue without starting a war?"

The King of Triel made a gesture in the air, and Erlend Swalestrom responded to the question not as a king, but as Duke of Thavnair, and thus a vassal of the Trielian King.

"As stated in the Peace of Uznair signed sixty seasons ago, the _Realm_ of Southsward will remain as a subject to the _Kingdom _of Triel. For. All. Perpetuity. If the unthinkable event, which is what you have described previously, does happen, King Garmund will affirm to his duty as king and overlord, and defend his rights, which your king's ancestors have personally granted to him. And if he makes war upon those who unjustly rebel against him, then we are obligated follow his every command- and follow him we will!"

The tense silence between the Swalestrom brothers continued, only marred by the blurred whispers of puzzled lords.

Lord Becker opened his mouth to speak once again. "It shall appear that _the unthinkable in which I have previously described_ is less unthinkable than Your Grace would perceive." His voice suddenly got even bolder, and, in the eyes of the Trielians, prouder. "As royal emissary of King Gideon of Southsward, I declare to Your Highness Garmund III, King of Triel and _former _overlord of Southsward, that Southsward is once again an independent nation, made so by the will of her king and subjects both."

King Garmund took a deep breath, then gave his answer. "As royal emissary of Southsward, it is your duty to inform your _acting_ sovereign that it will be my duty to command him to submit to Triel, and obey the Peace of Uznair to prevent a war!"

Lord Becker gave a wry smile, as if he was prepared for that.

"And it would be mine to transmit my _only_ _and true_ king's refusal to stand by your unjust and incredible conditions."

"Then war it is." King Garmund stated the obvious, and the council room was plunged into chaos as Lord Becker exited the chamber with a flowing turn. Altayras would always remember Duke Erlend running out of the doorway as well, chasing after his wayward brother.

* * *

Less than a minute has passed before Erlend caught up to his brother, slamming his body against a castle wall.

"You were behind all of this! Sigrid's dead all thanks to you! My children will be left without a mother, and it's all your fault!" Erlend fumed.

"Sigrid's dead?" Becker looked surprised.

"Do not pretend that you know nothing! You had a paw in her death! I know full well!" If Erlend was furious earlier that day, he was absolutely incensed now. Tears dropped freely from his eyes as he raged incoherently as his brother.

"Erlend, calm down!" Becker implored. "I swear solemnly on the lives of my three sons that I am not responsible for the death of your lover." Nobles were nothing without their honour, and breaking an oath would not be something they would do. This applies to the elder Swalestrom brother as well, as his pride would not be able the indignity of breaking an oath.

Erlend took a moment to compose himself, only speaking a few seconds later. "Know full well that I will do everything and anything for my liege, as you will have done the same for yours."

For the first time in two seasons, Becker was called to agree with his brother. "No hard feelings. Got it. May the Fates guide you to the one you loved so much."

Erlend smiled after much difficulty. "Well, if I do indeed die in the war that you start, you won't have to share the world with me, won't you?"

As the two brothers met and laughed as true brothers for the last time in their lives, Erlend could have sworn that a single tear had flowed from Becker's hazel eye.

**A/N: Longest non-prologue chapter yet! This is my first time writing (or trying to write) some heavy emotions. First rage and sorrow with Erlend, then joy with Lorcan, and followed by suspense with Altayras, and looping back to Erlend's sadness. Losing a beast that you has considered to be family, followed by having his relationship with your actual family completely destroyed; with reconciliation being so close, but yet so far? That is something that I would not want to wish on my worst enemy! Oh, and the Trielo-Southard War has begun for less than 200 seconds! What horrors could it bring to the Swalestroms?**

**I will upload chapter summaries starting from this week on the Redwall Forums!**

**Chapter 4 (_Fealty_) will be out on 8/9 May!**

**P.S. The rules of diplomacy have not been fully developed yet, so a declaration of independence is not tantamount to a declaration of war. For now, at least.**

**P.P.S. Anyone here has siblings?**


	6. Fealty

**Fealty**

* * *

If Floret was in chaos before, it was now in open panic. War has indeed come to Southsward for the first time in thirty seasons, and no beast was truly ready for it.

"You told me that war wouldn't happen!" Lord Garrion Swalestrom snapped at his father.

"I just told you that we would not start a war. You may recall that Garmund of Triel declared war on us. We are, in fact, not the aggressor. If any realm desires to check Trielian power, they would join the conflict on our side." Lord Becker has just finished his (not so) diplomatic to Arnet, and now he was under pressure from his family. All three of his sons have been recalled to Floret, and were indignant at being in the dark regarding their father's plans.

"King Gideon organised the assassination of someone close to Erlend, and he's now furious at us. All of us!" Becker exclaimed.

"What do you suggest we do now?" Lady Anezka questioned her husband. Judging by the fact that Lord Becker travelled to Reslen personally to ask for her hand, he and she were a good match, both personally and politically. She was tall for a Jaysian, and though she may not be as beautiful as some other noble ottermaids, her skills as a wife and parent were more than enough to provide a counterbalance.

On the more political side, Becker and Anzeka married to oppose the old king of Parma and his son-in-law. Infirm and weak, King Winchell Baleblood of Jayso is set to die without a male heir, and Anezka's two younger sons could claim either his insular realm or his Trielian duchy if he willed as such.

However, opening a second front against the Trielians was not part of Becker's plans now. He was much more preoccupied with the more defensive aspects of war.

"We hold the Greatrange. If that fails, we try to prevent total encirclement, but we will avoid pitched battles."

"Why avoid pitched battles?" asked Godred Swalestrom. Excelling in training with a sword or a bow, Godred Swalestrom was a born warrior, but without proper battle experience, it would be of little consequence.

"You should remember how the last war was lost. We arranged our forces into lines, we made sure we outnumbered the enemy, we charged - and we got hacked to pieces." Garrion reminded his younger brother. Having read all about battles, Garrion was definitely a self-taught tactician, who learned from the triumphs and mistakes of his forebears and long-dead rivals.

"Then how are we going to delay our foe?" Bedric piped up. Being the youngest of Lord Swalestrom's three sons, he resembled his father the most in personality if not looks. They were both bubbly and flighty otters, more suited at play than at work, and always managing to have fun whatever the circumstances. _Perhaps that's why Mother fell for him, _thought Garrion. _Her brother is but an utter bore, and she would be quick to welcome a change of pace. She was lucky to walk a different path. _

Garrion would certainly know much of marriage, seeing that he was the only married beast amongst the four siblings. Bellamy was to be betrothed to Sverker Crestworth of Doma, but the unexpected death of his grandfather quickly put an end to that. In Godred and Bedric, however, Anzeka and Becker decided to play their cards more carefully.

Ellisiv Rueford was a calm beast, well-read and cautious, never saying more than what should be said. Her father agreed to the marriage quick enough, with Erlend putting pressure on his territories in Dravania, foiling his plans for then.

"We stay in our forts and hold our chokepoints." Becker answered. "If the Trielians' supplies are cut, than they can do nothing against us."

"What about Erlend? He's the king of Garlesca now. Does that mean that the Garleans will be on their side?" Bedric continued to ask.

His sister decided to speak for the first time. "Queen Lorelei has another son from a prior marriage - Corrado, was it? Erlend's child with her would not be able to get his paws onto the Garlean throne, and he's Thordan! He wouldn't _want_ to be king!" Corrado Truetide was married to Garrion's maternal cousin Eliska, so he would be a safe king if he finally receives his mother's inheritance, his father leaving everything to his elder son from a prior marriage.

Godred decide to give his own interpretation to Bellamy's explanation. "So if anything happens to Erlend _or_ Lorelei, there would not be any Garlean support, wouldn't it?"

Lord Becker's face soured. "We would not try to slay our own kin, Godred Swalestrom! We are no vermin." Seeing that his son was now regretting his words, he continued. "We will try to devise the election of a Parman king friendly to us. He would restrain my traitorous kin. If that fails, we will still prevent the election of my nephew Thordan. He's too young to pose any direct threat to us, and he's as weak as any Swalestrom can be."

His wife contemplated for a while. "But what if Erlend himself becomes the King of Parma?"

Becker was surprised by the possibility, to say the least. "What? Erlend, King of Parma? By Great Seasons, I will ensure this will not happen!" He turned back to his children.

"Bedric, you will go back to the Greatrange. You are well acquainted with the terrain there, and Fort Tiernan will be receptive to you. After all, you have been there, and I'll ask Ralos to go with you once more." His youngest son nodded, prepared to follow orders.

"Godred, you will follow me to Dravania. We both know that your cousin Sigurd will put up a fight, and it will be a fight we will bring to him." Godred smiled, happy to do something for his father and kingdom.

"Garrion, your task is no less important." The firstborn's ears tensed, anticipating a mission with a large scale. _Perhaps I'll lead a raid into Triel proper, or even get to wrest the Duchy of Obring out of Trielian paws!_

"You are to defend Floret at all costs." Seeing the look of disappointment on his eldest son's face, Becker quickly added a few words to his orders. "Floret has never fallen since the days of the Foxwolf, and you are here to ensure that it will never fall since then. The life of your king, your wife, and your mother and sister rests wholly in your paws. If anything particularly bad does happen, I will return to help you. After all, Godred can manage in my absence."

"Bellamy, you will be safe behind these walls. Now may be too late for you to marry anyone of significance, but you will surely get your chance. Give your brother advice. He will need help from all sources, and you are certainly not dull."

Becker smiled at all his children. "Don't worry. I will return here safe and sound. I promise. Even if the worst happens, I'm proud of you four, and you can do more than I will ever do. And please don't follow in my pawsteps, and treat each other like your friends. It may be too late for me and Erlend, but your lives are just beginning, and you will not fail each other. Can you promise me that?"

A chorus of agreements erupted from the mouths of Lord Swalestrom's children.

* * *

Ralos was desperate.

He was expecting a war, but not a war so soon. The squirrel made his way towards the council chamber, and found that there were more lords than usual gathered there. _It used to be just five. When has the number gone up to thirty?_

Besides the Swalestroms (all four of them), old Lord Rueford was here, alongside his son. _They must be glad to see their daughter and sister. _Lady Ellisiv was a pact between lord and vassal, and Lord Becker planned this marriage well. Lord Strandsor was not seated next to the Ruefords as usual, but Ralos could not find him. There was simply no trace of the lords, father and son. _Perhaps they were not called here._

A herald announced the coming of King Gideon, and the lords, whether mouse, squirrel or otter, all stood up to greet him, only sitting when their king commanded them to.

"It has come to our attention that Triel does not desire the formation of an independent Southsward, but for him to declare war of us is not an outcome we have guessed," the king announced. _You have not _guessed _indeed. Sureluy you have planned for this to happen._

"Southsward is a kingdom, just like Triel. In fact we know that Southsward predates her sister kingdom by a hundred seasons, if not more! They have no cause to subjugate us, and they know this as well as we do! The truth is against their ambitions, so King Garmund and his henchbeasts saw fit to ignore it. The Peace of Uznair may be torn in two, like any scrap of paper, but the Trielians have not enforced its conditions, and they too have ignored its limits on their power. To summarise, they have broken the peace long before we were even born!"

Murmurs arose from the crowd. War was never a thing to be taken lightly, and most of the lords were content to see Triel held at bay, they do not know if war would be the best option. Ralos may have spent long periods of life in the field, but even he was not sure.

"So my lords, I implore you to stand with Southsward and me! All your obligations toward Triel are null and void, and Southsward will rise from the humiliation brought by her neighbour!"

A long silence followed, only broken by the sound of Lord Becker Swalestrom rising from his seat, and walking towards King Gideon. All the lords (Ralos included) waited wide-eyed as lord and king looked each other in the eyes.

The tension was only broken when Lord Swalestrom fell on one knee. He then opened his mouth.

"I, Lord Becker Swalestrom, Lord Skipper of the Southsward Otterguard and Lord of Hildrinn, shall let it be known that I have sworn, by my own will and volition, to render homage and fealty for my second time to King Gideon of Southsward. I swear once more to remain faithful to him, my king, to never cause him harm in any form, and to observe my homage to him completely and fully, against all beasts in good faith and without deceit. I also swear that I will destroy his enemies and their plans to the best of my ability. I will do so until the Crown does leave the throne, or if death shall take me, or the world end. This I, Lord Becker Swalestrom, shall swear on the life my children and the grave of my father!"

Ralos felt compelled to do the same, rushing out of his seat and knelt just like his predecessor had done. "Here do I, General Ralos of the Southsward Order of Defense, swear by mouth and paw fealty and service to the Crown and Kingdom of Southsward: to speak and to be silent; to do and to let be; to come and to go; to serve and to teach, in such matters as concern this Realm; in need or in plenty, in peace or in war, in living or in dying, until the Crown depart their throne, or death take me, or the world end. So do I swear on land, sea and sky!"

Lord after lord moved out of their seats and got on their knees.

"I, Lord Lorents Rueford, Lord of Svartemyrr shall swear on my House that…"

"I, Lord Francis, Minister of Coin does swear that…"

"I, Lord Garrion, Heir to the Southsward Otterguard swears that …"

After the lords gave their oaths, King Gideon decided to complete his speech.

"And these oaths do we hear. And we, for our part, swear fealty to these lords and peers of Southsward and to all their households; to protect and defend them against every creature with all our power, until we depart from the throne, or death take us, or the world end. So say we, Gideon, King of Southsward, and _former_ vassal to the King of Triel. We shall do our duty as King and lords of Southsward, and defend the Southard crown and the Southard realm!" The last word of the speech was drowned by the cheering of the lords.

Ralos was the only lord in attendance that was lost in thought. _So the war has begun, in the thunderous applause of the high and mighty lords - lords that have never tasted any war before. _

_May Great Seasons ward us from what is to come, for we walk the path to ruin._

* * *

**A/N: Both kingdoms are now ready for the war, and suffering after suffering shall ensue for their inhabitants. On the other side of the Sound, Parma is suffering from a succession crisis, so they can do nothing until a king is chosen, and while their nobles start to take sides on their own.**

**Sebias: War? Peace? Bloodshed? Drama? All four.**

**Grey: I know how hard it is to write death scenes that shed tears in the first few chapters, but this is the problem with writing the first fanfic in a series of many. If you will try to read my future prequel, the emotional experience will be more striking.**

**It is completely normal that you were confused by the last three chapters. It may sound like a strange thing today, but war and shifting alliances were completely normal for medieval times. During my research, I have seen simple wars, and some really complicated ones. Even in medieval times, alliances were ephemeral and changed far too often. For example, in the War of the Succession in Champagne (yes, really), a few barons and Lorraine faced against the full might of Champagne (it used to be a county), Burgundy and Bar (also a county, subject to a few people walking into it). They lost, but not without trying. Not more than seven years later, Champagne decided to take on Burgundy and Bar, but this time with the barons and Lorraine on her side.**

**I will try to simplify things in the later chapters. Thordan will be back in Raevsvakt, and we shall see what the war's effects on the other side of the Southern Realms.**

**Chapter 5 (_Weight of His Will_) will be out on 15/16 May!**

**P.S. The oaths of fealty said by the Southard lords are all taken from reality.**


	7. Weight of His Will

**Weight of His Will**

* * *

**RAEVSVAKT, LORDSHIP OF MERAHOLMER, DRAVANIA**

In contrast to Becker's children being so certain about their triumph, the other Swalestroms of the next generation were wavering.

"So Mother's dead, Triel and Southsward are at war, and Parma is without a king." Sigrun Swalestrom gave the briefest of analyses on the current situation. Being also a quiet, pensive otter, Sigrun resembles her father the most out of his three children.

"Father's in Obring as of three days before. He's going to be made Garlean King alongside your mother, and hurry back to Triel to meet Southard forces." Sigurd was not a 'quiet, pensive otter' like his sister and father, having seen fit to be loud and boisterous. Out of the seven Swalestrom cousins, he was the first to be born. Erlend and Sigrid more a set of twins, and he clearly favoured them over his youngest son. Not that he minded.

Though his parents never married, Sigurd was recognised as his father's successor in full disregard with Southard law, but in complete accordance with Dravain custom, which only requires recognition compared to legitimacy. Thavnair, however will pass to his younger, legitimate son, having been given to her husband by Queen Lorelei. Garlesca was gained by marriage, so Lorelei's son by Corrado Truetide, another Corrado, will inherit the title.

"Everything just seems so complicated right now." Thordan complained. "It just seems like the world is trying to mess Father's plans up." Despite first meeting only when they were at the ages of thirteen and ten seasons respectively, Thordan had a good relationship with his paternal half-siblings, and thought of them just as well as Lorcan and Alfyn Stalwart, the two otters he was raised with for most of his childhood. The fact that Sigurd was wed to their sister Avelyn, who remained in Arnet, bound these two families further - an alliance that was clearly expected to last.

"As I recall, Sigurd and I will try to take Hildrinn from Becker, establishing a base of operations. The locals will surely welcome him. Thordan, what task has father left for you?" Sigrun said as her brothers paced around the room. _Can they just keep calm for a moment? The situation cannot get any worse, and panicking would only exacerbate it!_

"Father never gave me any orders," Thordan answered, "and I know not of his plans." Sigrun's half-brother was never the most confident or competent of beasts, but for their father to not give any orders was odd, given the unstable situation. "Though Moth- Queen Lorelei told me to hold Meraholmer until the end of the war."

"She wrote that she wanted Father to be the King of Parma! If he does get elected, the war would be easy!" Sigurd said emphatically.

"This will not be likely, brother." Thordan sighed. "No sane Elector would ever vote for a Southard or Trielian."

"And he is a chief belligerent in the war!" Sigrun reminded her brother. "The Parmans are too rich to risk fighting on any side, ours or theirs, and they simply don't like Father!"

"Hmm, makes sense." Sigurd simply said. "We should get going, sister. We cannot delay for too long, as Lord Becker's forces will get to Hildrinn before we do. Thordan, do your duty."

His brother simply nodded as if he was not listening at all. Then his ears simply sprung up. "Sigurd, Sigrun, this may be the last time we meet. Becker knows that I'm here, and Hildrinn can be taken, but we won't know how long it will hold. I'm worried for the both of you, so..." He rushed forward and held his father's other children in his paws tightly, as though he was utterly terrified of letting go of the duo.

Sigrun interrupted. "You need not worry. We'll come back to you. I swear."

Sigurd was more emotional, as usual. "Always know that you can always call on me when you're in a bind, and I'll be always free to help you out!"

Thordan let go of his elder siblings, clearly overwhelmed by emotion. After struggling verbally, he spoke softly and gently. "I … I will miss both of you. May your hearts and minds guide the both of you forth."

Sigrun smiled. _The traditional Trielian blessing. _"May them guide you on your way too!"

* * *

Thordan looked at the leaving ship from his place at the docks. With his brother and sister leaving on their way to Kaldos, he would have to simply play his part to the best of his abilities.

"They're gone?" A voice behind him caused him to leap up into the air, then fall back down in an unbefitting manner. Turning his head backwards, his eyes met those of a weasel.

"Egil, you need to stop sneaking on me!"

"Couldn't help it. You're always rushing out unguarded, and somebeast has to keep watch on you!" Thordan may have learned from his mistakes made on his last time setting foot on Meraholmer and stopped trusting everybeast he saw, but he still failed to keep guards nearby.

"Besides, your reaction was an extreme inducer of laughter!" Egil pealed. After killing a few guards in the process of saving his friend, he did not take long to act as any friend would - not that Thordan liked it.

The otter sighed. "Please do not do it again."

Egil smiled. "No guarantees, Lord Thordan." He May be beast prone to reflection and thought, but Thordan managed to coax a playful demeanour from the weasel. "Well it's back to business with you, isn't it?" The weasel continued.

The streets of the island were bustling once more, as if the shadow Crestworth cast on it never even existed. Beasts were bartering and calculating here and there, selling Southard legumes and vegetables at higher prices than ever before, and customers vented out their frustration in the most vulgar words and phrases Thordan has ever heard. The otterlord has placed a tariff on Southard goods to damage Southsward's potential for economic warfare, and now he was going to be hated for it.

Truth be told, Thordan never enjoyed his lordship. _It's just a task too important for me. Why? Why would Father choose me, and not Sigurd or Gustav Strandsor or his son, or anyone else? Does he know something I don't? He always does! __Or is it another of my grandfather's ploys? Not that can ask him now, obviously. It seems that the beasts I know always have a tendency to die at the most inopportune moments. _

Egil's voice snapped him out of his world of thought. "Hey, I'm talking to you!"

Thordan hastily responded as the two beasts, woodlander and vermin, walked back to the castle. "Yeah, yeah. Back to the extremely tedious duties of lordship for me, I suppose. What will you be doing in the meantime?"

"Me? I'll be staying with you, your lordship. My father has been quite insistent about yours paying his debts _in full_, and he sent me to check on you. Don't you remember?"

"My father is an honest beast. He will pay up, but there is always the war going on." _Either Father would have to borrow even more from Parman merchants to give him a fighting chance, or would have to ask his wife for Garlean gold. Either way, his father would have to wait. _"He'll simply ask for an extension."

"It's not that simple!" Egil exclaimed. "Anything could happen in war! He could be unable to pay back if he's captured or killed!"

_Expect the worst in war. _Thordan heard that a lot from his grandfather when he was still alive. Had he not died, he would be one of the few beasts able to prevent the exacerbation of the conflict. He might be one of the most annoying beasts some beasts have ever encountered, but he was nothing but a doting grandparent to Thordan during their two years spent together.

The younger Thordan was one of the first beasts who heard of the death of his grandfather. He wept for days, too much for even a grandson of a king, and drawing the attention of his mother, who immediately commanded him to 'cease his moping' and return to Meraholmer, which was the best place to defend Dravania from the newly ascendant Lord Valdemar Crestworth. _How could she be so precise yet again?_

"I'm sure that it will not be likely to come to that," Thordan said. "We can win, and even if we lose, we are sure get to gain something from it."

The two beasts finally arrived at the castle gates, only to see a beast outside them. The fox with black fur was clearly impatient, and his frustration was matched by the urgency of the situation.

Isangrim remembered the lord and the vermin beside him. The dagger-wielding weasel saved his life just in the castle he was standing before, and clearly he was recognised by the fox.

"I bring tidings from your mother." Isangrim tersely said as the gates were finally opened, the guards not trusting some fox from entering, as the last time he danced in, three woodlanders fell by his paw. Even though all three were Crestworth guards, their more loyal replacements were not exactly taking chances.

"Sorry for you to wait so long, Isangrim." Thordan was receptive to the fox though the guards were not. He was one of the nine beasts able to gain the elder Thordan's trust, and he was one of nine thousand in the case of the younger.

For the last thirty years Isangrim has helped the late king of Parma with matters great and small, clandestine as his methods might me, only known to the old king's associates and kin. Some more superstitious beasts even said that he was some sort of sorcerer, influencing the king in some method invisible from all beasts. All of them were, to put it simply, wrong.

"Your mother commands you to stay away from Parma when she fails to get an acceptable candidate on the throne. She's got Borwin Vorrad on her side, by the Crestworths too have two votes in the persons of Lord Valdemar and his brother."

"So she's just telling you to stay here, and don't go on that side of the Sound." Egil summarised as briefly as he can. "Got it, Your Lordship?"

"Exactly as he says. You will return when sombeast receptive to us does ascend though. It is etched that this will happen."

Isangrim seemed to know something more than he was letting on, and the other vermin caught on. "Etched? Where?"

"Never mind that," the fox said gruffly. "Anyways, remember that you will get to see your mother by the end of this spring." Twelve months was not a long time to wait, especially in wartime, though it would be convenient if a season lasted four times briefer.

"Don't go to Parma. I got that." Thordan simply said as he walked into his audience chamber. It was a rare occurrence when somebeast was actually there, as few foreigners would send envoys to some random islands in the middle of the Sound.

But all cases have an exception, as the trio walked closer, a hedgehog's body came into view - a very familiar hedgehog, in fact.

Whatever his original purpose, Bertil the former guards beast seemed unsettled by the presence of the weasel.

"Sorry I tried to kill you about a month before." Egil quickly apologised. "I was quite desperate back then."

Before the weasel could receive an answer, Isangrim quickly shifted Bertil's attention away from the past. "Why are you here, hedgehog?"

"Lord Valdemar brings a message. He shuddered for a bit, and then continued.

"He will honour his pact with King Gideon and Lord Becker, and he swears not to rest until Raevsvakt and all Meraholmer lies in his paws. You can either submit quietly and leave with all your forces intact, or try to defend what is not rightfully yours. In that case, we would simply lay waste to every single thing

Seeing the shocked and enraged expressions of the trio in front of him, the hedgehog quickly added a sentence, which was followed by more and more words..

"Sorry about last time. After Raevsvakt, Lord Valdemar discharged me from guard duty, and simply sent me here as an envoy without any kind of training. I am just here to deliver a message, and leave intact as befitting an emissary. What was said here reflects not my opinion, so I hope you'll understand."

Thordan swiftly changed his shocked expression for a look of certainty."We will understand, of course. Tell Lord Valdemar that he should not have sworn as such. If he desire's peace, then he should allow his head to calm down as he scrambles to find a solution. If he has no cause for peace, then he should get as much rest as possible. Us Islanders will put up a fight, and it is not possible to resist us half-awake. Go home and bear my message to your lord, and tell him that Lord Thordan Swalestrom, grandson of High King Thordan the Second of Parma, _sincerely_ wishes for him to reconsider his unjustified and blatant invasion."

"_Now_ you can depart with every right of an emissary. May your skills as a diplomat grow. May you fare better than your master. And may your heart and mind guide you forth."

As Bertil walked briskly out after more apologies, Thordan was startled by a clap on the back by the black fox. "You really deserve your grandfather's name."

Thordan muttered his thanks, still confused and perplexed by everything that transpired. The nascent lord would have a lot to do, and he would have to do even more if he had known that Lord Valdemar Crestworth of Doma would soon be the least of his worries.

* * *

**A/N: A war is seldom fought on one front. Now, the East has to be pincered by Lord Becker and Lord Valdemar against Erlend's sons, while the West is held by Bedric and Garrion Swalestrom against the advancing Trielian king. He and what army? You'll get to see it a week later.**

**To quote Jade TeaLeaf, 'Southsward has changed since the days of the Bellmaker.' Approximately five hundred seasons have passed, and the technological level is closer to **_**The Rogue Crew **_**as compared to **_**The Bellmaker**_**. Parma was the only kingdom older than Southsward, and used this as an excuse to invade Triel and Southsward several times in the past, until her attention shifted elsewhere. If any of you have questions about the lore, be welcome to review or send a Private Message to me! After all, my story needs much improvement, whether it is good or bad.**

**Chapter 6 (_Pennons Aloft_) will be out on 15/16 May!**


	8. Pennons Aloft

**Pennons Aloft**

* * *

**ORIENCE, DUCHY OF DEILART, KINGDOM OF TRIEL**

The host of King Garmund was on its way, coupled with his vassals and lords.

Orience was a bastion city located on the gulf which shares its name. With its sandy beaches and bustling centre, it could be a prime example of a capital city of a great Realm. However, Floret and Arnet towered above her in both glamour and prestige, so the city situated between two nations could not be more than a trading hub.

All was plain and simple, until the Southard kings found out that it could easily be used as a base of operations for wars against the Trielians. During the Second Reach War, the Trielians seized the citadel after half a summer of siege, and Triel decided not to tear it down, believing that such a mighty bastion could not be wasted. So they simply took it into their own paws in the Peace of Uznair signed after the war. The Peace may be broken, but Orience was still a Trielian possession, and the mouse king hoped to keep it that way.

Amongst King Garmund's war council, Lord Alfyn Stalwart could spot numerous figures that he knew. King Garmund took the war as a chance to put his valour to the test, and prepared accordingly, having commissioned a suit of plain armour (not suited for a king, but very practical), and with a large war-axe to match. His sons have not reached adulthood yet, so they were not in attendance, having stayed with their Parman stepmother Queen Bertrada in Arnet.

Just beside the mouse king was Duke Somerled of Deilart, their current host. Somerled was an untested battle commander, having been too young to fight at Balv, though some would say that inexperience could be balanced with loyalty. Lord Alfyn was not one of those beasts, and knew that Somerled could barely lead a small band of vermin, let alone an entire army of organised (and civilised) woodlanders.

At the other side of the king stood Duke Altayras of Burelas. Burelas was the last of the Six Duchies to submit to Triel, and Borellers have kept their old customs, being warriors of unparalleled bravery - and not a lot of wisdom to supplement it. It took over two whole centuries of constant border skirmishes, raids on farms and deposits, and the occasional full-blown invasion to negotiate a Trielian victory - one with very favourable terms for the Borellers.

Altayras' father, the late Duke Kestutas, was a lone scholar in a family of soldiers, and it did not take long for his heir to revert to his ancestral ways, but with the ability to think with clarity in his case. He and Alfyn did not share much words when they met in Meraholmer - Alfyn thought his brother much more agreeable. However, Altayras is indeed a scion of Burelas, and the blood of warriors flows within him. He would serve Triel well.

Lord Lorcan stood at the squirrel's side. Alfyn knew his twin well, having been raised with him for twenty long seasons. He was of little use in war, being a poet and scholar, but he would do his duty well, with his brother by his side, of course.

His brother may have been downright jubilant at his daughter's birth, but Alfyn expressed emotions that were more muted. According to Trielian and Southard law, any male in the family is higher in the line of succession before any relative in the female line. Before Lorcan sired a son, Alfyn was still his heir - a situation not unwelcome to King Garmund, but _very _undesirable for the brothers. Alfyn may have been the Arnet Skipper in all but name, but he desired not to supplant his brother. While his brother lacks the ability for decisive action, Alfyn lacked the patience needed for it.

"My Lords, Southsward has declared an unjust war against us." King Garmund's voice boomed across the hall. As Lord Becker Swalestrom told us, King Gideon has declared that Southsward will be free of Triel, thus breaking the Peace of Uznair in which his predecessors have agreed to. By this act, we now refuse to recognise him as King of Southsward - an oathbreaker and his line cannot be allowed on any throne." The lords muttered amongst themselves, amazed by this novel development, and hoping to gain from it, as was customary among highborns.

King Garmund continued, "He and his son are both usurpers from now on. By tracing genealogies and barring the _traitors_ from the Southard throne, we have decided that there would be a King of Southsward of our own choosing." He then nodded at Duke Somerled, who stepped forth and knelt before the mouseking.

The king asked loudly,"Do you, Somerled of Deilart, wish to keep the Peace of Uznair, and prolong cooperation between the two realms of Southsward and Triel?"

"I do."

King Garmund asked his second question with a volume even louder than he asked the first. "Do you, Somerled of Deilart, Somerled of Deilart, wish to be completely and utterly loyal to Triel, and swear your allegiance to her?"

"I do."

"Do you, Somerled of Deilart, accept the Kingdom of Southsward, which was pried from the paws of traitors and oathbreakers?" King Garmund shouted.

"I do!" Lord Somerled responded for the third time.

"Very well. Rise, Somerled, King of Southsward and Duke of Deilart."

Somerled obeyed his lord and stood up. The squirrel bore a vibrant red pelt, unlike his Boreller neighbours. He was also more ceremonially dressed compared to the much more simple attires of the grey-furred brothers - Altayras wore light armour so as to move and strike swiftly, while Denebas wore nothing but his tunic and his signature red hat, with a Sparra feather on top. On the other paw, Somerled wore his silk garb, clearly dressed to awe the commons. Alfyn wondered if he could even lift a claw to defend his title held but in pretense.

_Somerled? King? King Garmund is _that_ desperate for a weak king, so he simply makes one. A perfectly normal thing to do for a king._

King Garmund's voice shook the hall once more. "Now, we will discuss our plans for the coming war."

"King Somerled, you will make for Floret for the first opportunity, together with the forces already under your control. Duke Altayras, you will be directly under my command, as you are still young, and have much to learn from more experienced beasts." The two squirrel nobles nodded their heads in agreement, Somerled with significantly less hesitation.

"Lords Lorcan and Alfyn." Alfyn's ears perked up while his brother's face was as stoic as stone - just like the previous two decades. "You two are to take the fleet to Raevsvakt. Lord Alfyn, you have been to Meraholmer before, have you?"

"You are correct, Your Highness." Though Garmund sent the Burelas brothers to gain experience for future battles, Alfyn went along to save his friend from harm, somehow succeeding in befriending a vermin in the process. Having only met for three hours, Egil the weasel was flightly and smiled constantly, even in the most adverse of circumstances. Lorcan would like him - not before studying all about talking to vermin, of course. Here in Triel, vermin are kept as slaves, while Southsward banned them outright. _At least Parma knows how to make mountains of gold with their extra manpower and incentives. Damn those Parmans and their veritable maelstroms of avarice._

"Then you know you way there. I have received rumours from King Erlend of Garlesca that Lord Valdemar Crestworth will try to launch a full-scale invasion against the islands, as compared to his father's lacklustre operation. He has already instructed Lord Thordan on what to do, and you two will assist him."

Alfyn nodded. "We will not let you down, Your Majesty. Me and my brother both." Lorcan nodded as well, a split second slower than his brother. _Lorcan read all too much about ships. Let him handle the planning, and I will deal with the fighting. _He remembered a certain weasel's joke about he carving his way out of problems and instinctively smiled, tucking it back in before anyone else but his brother noticed it. _Lorcan knows all about battles. He would surely know what to do._

"Very well. May your hearts and minds guide you forth, my young lords."

Alfyn knelt before his king, one paw over his heart. Seeing his brother's actions, the awkward Lorcan quickly followed. "May your heart and mind guide you, Your Majesty." Then they left the council chamber, hurrying to fulfill their easy task.

* * *

**VERNOLL, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD**

Denebas Burelas had not recovered fully from his first killing at Raevsvakt.

His brother always had no qualms about killing. As a typical Trielian, and a Boreller in addition, he was most definitely used to stabbing his way out of (and into) problems.

Denebas was less capable of violent action. He may have killed at an earlier age compared to his brother and gained his respect along the way, but something in him felt empty, like a hole bore into his heart. _It has to be filled, but I don't want to be Altayras! Never will I relish in war! _

Moving from Orience further into Southsward was easier than when the squirrel first expected. The Trielian host encountered no army, Otterguard or Sword (as the Southards called their Order of Defense). Bedric Swalestrom was supposed to hold the Range, but he and General Ralos have not appeared yet - not necessarily a good thing.

After his saved his brother from the paws of Lord Canute Crestworth, he struggled significantly against fainting, and finally succumbed to the urge to collapse. Thordan Swalestrom, being trained as a healer by his grandfather (and, in a cruel fit of irony, the brother of the beast Denebas had killed), quickly helped him to his feet, and his words quickly healed more than his herbs and bandages. _Behind every warrior is a healer indeed._

During his recovery the younger Lord Stalwart and his weasel friend visited a few times, mostly for introductions, though the weasel did not say much, and Alfyn Stalwart may have tried to stay for hours longer than he was welcome. Only both the already garrulous Thordans could expel him from his resting chambers.

This all changed when his grandfather was found dead, never waking from his final slumber. Thordan was distraught, and only Alfyn and Egil could approach him. Denebas tried, at least, but Thordan quickly sent him away after a few minutes. At least he acted more civilly towards his former patient than to the black fox who butted in every hour or so, rambling on and on about the inevitability of destiny, and that all beasts are doomed to misfortune, and the like. Denebas would rather be burnt alive than have to speak with him ever again.

The weasel was said to accompany Alfyn Stalwart back to Raevsvakt, and the two of them were to face the night of Lord Crestworth single-pawed. King Erlend, the poor otterpup's father, advised his son to strike first and sail towards Otharn, though whether his advice would be taken is another story.

Altayras only spoke to him only when he returned back to Burelas, and not much as usual. His brother was ever an aloof beast, only speaking when it was his turn. He was a much better leader of other beasts, and Denebas and Vega felt compelled to follow him almost always in their childhood.

Speaking of his sister, Denebas missed her. She was one of the only beasts that was able to calm him down when he started having nightmares (Altayras failed with the singing, and Thordan Swalestrom had numerous issues with his concentration). Denebas loved his quiet, bookish sister, and objected to all plans to marrying her off to any random lord.

There was that one time she was betrothed to some Parman Elector's son back when their father was still alive, but the match was called off after Denebas and Vega pleaded for days (Altayras threatening to disinherit himself was the deciding factor). Their father never got over it, and asked Altayras to see that she marry a powerful lord after his passing, and his elder brother never told him his response.

Denebas was snapped out from his lengthy thoughts by his brother's brash footsteps. Altayras Burelas was clearly anxious to find him.

"Can you not hide in the middle of the woods talking to yourself while we are on campaign?"

"No." Denebas answered simply. "What is the matter now?"

"Our scouts have discovered the location of Lord Bedric's forces, and both sides are ready to give battle! Get to your crossbow unit immediately, for their pennons are raised aloft!"

Seeing that Denebas was still shocked at this recent development, the elder grey squirrel tried another approach. "As Duke of Burelas, I command you to fight for you king, homeland and your sister - our sister."

_Altayras got formal? I'll give him formal! _

"As your humble sworn knight, I will fight for Your Grace on one condition." Seeing his brother's ears perk up, he quickly added, "If I perish in battle, take care of Vega, and do not marry her off to a squirrel she likes not." His voice grew more desperate as he slowly broke into tears. "This I beg of Your Grace!"

Clearly taken aback by the younger squirrel's devotion towards his sister (and perhaps slightly ashamed of his own neglect), Altayras gave his agreement.

"You are already ruled by your heart. Brother, May your mind guide you forth. Raise your own pennons, and may you guide your beasts to victory over your foes!"

Denebas quickly returned the blessing, then scurried off to take command of the Boreller crossbowbeasts. _This could be the last time I will speak to Alt, but we will both leave this world with no regrets. I am sure of that!_

* * *

**A/N: A&D finally do something! Both sets of Trielian brothers are composed of a brash one and a gentle one, but the order of birth between them is switched. You will get more on Lorcan and Alfyn soon enough.**

**Erlend is absent in this Triel chapter because he is in Garlesca, attending his own coronation as king. He will be back soon!**

**This is my first time writing two locations - previous chapters tend to stick to one place. I will tend to spread out more and more in the upcoming chapters.**

**Chapter 7 (**_**A Fine Death) **_**will be out on 29/30 May!**

**P.S. Here are the ages of a few characters. Thordan is 16-17, Egil is 17-18, Sigurd and Sigrun are 19-20, Lorcan and Alfyn are 22, Garrion is 23, Godred is 21, Bellamy is 20, Bedric is 19, Altayras is 20 and Denebas is 18. **

**P.P.S. Chapter summaries and family trees are now up on the Redwall Abbey Community Forum!**


	9. A Fine Death

**A Fine Death**

* * *

**HILDRINN, LORDSHIP OF HILDRINN, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD**

Godred Swalestrom was awaiting his father's orders.

His cousin Sigurd somehow arrived at Hildrinn before the Otterguard, annoying father to no end. Now the city would have to be taken by force, and much time and beasts would be wasted, never to be returned to them.

When Lord Becker heard the news, his first reaction was no nearly faint in rage. His second, more dignified response was to build a few siege towers and catapults to intimidate Hildrinn's denizens, and are to be used only when it is absolutely necessary.

Which was now.

Due to the plans and machinations of Lord Erlend, the citizens of Hildrinn were staunchly anti-Floret. They would simply not tolerate Godred and his father. If they were so forthcoming as to invite the elder Swalestrom lord, there would be a high chance that a trap is waiting to be sprung.

Lord Becker refrained from assaulting - slow and steady may not always win races, but more haste _does_ equal less speed. So they waited. And waited.

Godred never believed in miracles. There are seldom coincidences in politics, and exactly none in war, so everything happened for clear and specific reasons. His father was a bit more optimistic, however, and luck shone ever brightly on him indeed.

"Godred." His father called him, drawing him away from the newly-built siege engines, ready to be used. "I need you to handle the siege here. After the last parley session in the afternoon, I will have another task - one less important, though more useful to our cause."

_Father's leaving _everything _here to me? This is a surprise to be sure, but a welcome one!_

"I will not let you down, Father." Godred responded, trying (and failing) to hide the joy on his face. His father caught on fast.

"Don't get carried away now, Godred! You need to keep yourself calm for you to succeed. Rashness will goad you into a fine death, and we would not want that happening, won't we?" Godred hastily nodded, causing the elder lord to calm down.

"Now onto the parley. No matter what happens, Godred, do _not _speak. I will handle everything here. I handled my brother before, and his son would not be any different."

Becker and Erlend were known by deeds and character as 'The Serpent' and 'The Fox' by their enemies (though never by each other). Both of them were cunning, and they were one of the few beasts that can outplay the other. Their children were less suited to intrigue, to the serpent's joy and the fox's chagrin.

"Pardon me for asking, Father, but what will you be doing when I am besieging the city? Bedric and Ralos took the west, and Garrion is busy preparing defences in Floret. We are now in the eastern reaches of the realm. What remains of interest to you and your plans?"

"Meraholmer." Lord Becker Swalestrom responded. "I have a fox cub to catch, and he will not escape my grasp."

Before Godred was able to ask his father about what he wanted with Lord Thordan, the defenders of Hildrinn decided to accept his parley request.

Parley was serious business for highborn and commoner alike, and the Swalestrom twins were children of both. When they heard of their uncle's request for peace talks, they went about on their immediate preparations, and quickly affirmed their desire for a brief truce.

The first thing Lord Becker did was to apologise for the inconvenience he and his son had caused to the twins' plans for using Hildrinnas a base for an Eastern invasion of Southsward proper. Sigrun heartily accepted the apology while Sigurd was less accepting of the fact that Lord Becker constructed to dozen siege engines to _inconvenience _them.

Godred was also less than thrilled to see the twins. He and Sigurd were almost completely alike, and this only increased the bad blood between them. While their fathers were both carefree and understanding, children do not always resemble their parents, and it showed in the Swalestroms.

"My terms are as such," Lord Becker declared. "You two are to lead your forces away from Hildrinn, allowing us to take the city without casualties, and you will receive safe passage from Dravania."

_Safe passage? Father _really _wants Hildrinn. But Sigurd tries too hard to be his father's son. He won't simply yield._

"As Hildrinn is _de jure _a Dravain city, you hold no authority here as Skipper of the Floret Otterguard." Sigurd Swalestrom shouted. "Your title as Lord of Hildrinn is also a fabrication by the false King Gideon of Southsward, and has been revoked accordingly by King Somerled. By his second decree after his accession, _I _am lord of this city."

Sigurd must have savoured the look of shock Lord Becker and his son shared on their faces. First it was one of confusion, then it was one of doubt, then their faces shifted into rage, with Godred trembling from it.

His sister decided that it would be her turn to speak. "Thus, you have no power to continue your negotiations, and it is our time to offer terms."

Waiting for Lord Becker's face to return to a tenuous smile, Sigrun Swalestrom continued, "Our terms are even more simple. You are to leave Dravania, and surrender all your titles to anyone King Somerled would grant."

Lord Becker's smile faded into a grimace. "While you may see these terms as natural, we simply cannot accept them. You may have the Strandsors and your brother on your side, but they will soon be just as finished. Rest assured that you will not be able to triumph over a just cause."

The twins stared at each other and muttered amongst themselves. Then Sigurd decided to give his response.

"You might have been struggling with the _just cause_ thing. It is simply alien to you. This is going nowhere, and I see no point in continuing the negotiations if we just sling pointless insults at each other."

Godred finally decided to step up. "So are you surrendering or not?" Everybeast (even his father) turned to him with annoyance in their eyes.

"They will not be surrendering now, boy." Lord Becker sighed as he turned to his son. "It's up to you to change their stubborn minds."

Obviously thinking about the Trielian blessing, he added,"May their minds guide them forth until they see reason."

* * *

**FLORET, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD **

Bellamy paced worriedly within the halls of Castle Terrace. The Swalestrom family home has been used for more than a dozen generations, and the sandstone structure was small yet comfortable, neglecting the fact that the war has dimmed the hearts of Floret's inhabitants.

Her brother was diligent in his work, making sure fortresses were repaired, and that arms and supplies were transported by barge to forts on the Rems every single hour.

Her mother and Lady Ellisiv were not so sure about his talent for warfare, though they would not simply disobey Lord Becker's orders. As so-called proper ladies, the three of them did more talking than actually doing something, seeing that Southsward was at war again.

"I'm worried about your brothers, Bells." In contrast with Erlend and his cold treatment toward his wife, Anezka Baleblood had met Becker only days before they met, but they were devoted to each other - four children in the span of six seasons shall serve as a testament to that. She proved a doting mother, as all Jaysians tended to be.

"Why?" Bellamy asked with curiosity. Her three brothers may not be military geniuses, but her father trained them well. _Father's seldom wrong, and all three of my brothers have their positions assigned due to strengths._

"Anything could happen in war, my dear. My father fought alongside the Parmans at Balv, and now my brother is a Trielian vassal. One single mistake can doom a realm."

"So what? Garrion and his brother's are not the sort of beasts to make mistakes. They have been trained well by their father." Lady Ellisiv Rueford was a less pacific husband than her mother-in-law, but Lord Becker needed every single drop of Dravain support against his disobedient brother. She and Lord Garrion were wed with surprising haste, but this did not stop the couple from becoming friendly towards each other, though romance was yet to come.

"You know little about war, young lady." Anezka countered. Being a senior does allow the Jaysian to circumvent 'proper' etiquette and speak in a much direct manner.

"My husband and Godred are in the process of besieging some Gates-forsaken city, Garrion is working his brain out improving fort defenses, and my youngest has been given the task of stopping the advance of the _entire _Trielian army. I can assure you that everything that may go wrong will go wrong, and often in the worst of fashions."

A messenger burst into the room, completely exhausted and out of breath. The three noble ladies turned to face him, and the message he brought was not good news in any sense of the word.

"Lord Somerled has trapped Lord Garrion in Fort Macolt. He is being besieged, and needs urgent help this instant."

* * *

**VERNOLL, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD**

As was in most cases, Lady Anezka was right in more ways than one. For at the exact moment, another one of the Swalestrom brothers fared poorly against the Trielian foe.

Bedric Swalestrom did not realise something was off until it was too late. The Trielians were much less surprised to see his force, and King Garmund was cautious enough to ensure that he had brought enough beasts to withstand a Southard charge.

The young otterlord spun around, his Jaysian sabre cutting down a squirrel, then wheeled around to send a hare to his grave. His bodyguards dealt with the four other soldiers, then turned to face him.

Bedric realised that there was only one way to achieve victory. Their communication with General Ralos had been cut, mostly under the heavy fire of the Boreller crossbowbeasts and knights. Their remaining forces have been largely decimated, scattered away like petals in the wind. The only solution was for King Garmund to die, and the mouseking's location was known to all on both sides.

He still had about four hundred beasts under him, and they will obey his every order. Southsward was everything to them, and they will gladly follow him into battle.

"Soldiers, we have lost many beasts of our own. But if we make one last charge, King Garmund will be in our paws, and Southsward will be saved!" His encouraging speech was met with cheers, and they moved up the hill where the Trielian camp was.

Closely packed, the valiant soldiers of the Otterguard broke apart the defenses of the camp easily. The enemy never expected a strike so close to home, as the majority of the Trielians were busy routing General Ralos' forces off the battlefield.

Bedric slammed his sabre's hilt into a mole's stomach, and finished him off with a falling slash. King Garmund was close, and the young lord knew that. 'King' Somerled's forces were busy making their way towards Floret, and were absent from the battlefield. Garmund would surely regret the decision to send him away.

What Bedric did not expect was the fact that King Garmund was ready for battle. With heavy armour and an imposing battleaxe, he was terrifying even for a mouse. When he knew of the attack (too late for him to call back his army), he immediately flung himself into the thickest part of the melee, hewing down Southard after Southard.

Duke Altayras Burelas was alongside the king, which added a problem to the Otterguard's commander. _At least _their _Otterguard remains nowhere to be seen, which was a good thing._

An arrow nearly buried itself within Bedric's snout, causing him to look back and make a break for the archer. A single slash later and he was no more. Jaysian sabres are weapons of high calibre, especially when made without high quality steel - one of the many disadvantages of the insular subkingdom.

Bedric spied a squirrel clad in black and white from behind, pulling his spear out of a fallen Otterguard soldier, and quickly wheeled around to face him. Duke Altayras wore his family's colours for the first time in battle, but the otter was able to recognise him, even if his face was veiled by his visor. He did not go unnoticed, and the young Boreller duke raised his spear in a defensive position.

_If your foe builds up a defense, it is imperative to break it apart. _Bedric still remembered the words of his father, who served as one of his battle instructors. _I'll take my memories with him to my grave alongside this irksome squirrel!_

The young otterlord quickly prepared an agile stance, then advanced from the right, and awaiting the inevitable counterattack.

The squirrel quickly stabbed forward, hoping to impale his foe from the front. What he did not know was the fact that Bedric predicted such a move - his father taught him that too. _Spears are used for controlling the distance of an enemy. Wrench that control away from him, and he will be helpless._

He simply stepped to the left, leaving Altayras' spear dangling at a long-evaded opponent_. _Bedric slid through the spear's reach and struck, forcing the Trielian duke to step back to evade - dropping his spear in the process. Now facing an unarmed foe, Bedric smiles as he moved in for the kill.

At least until a shadow barrelled into him.

Bedric fell down and stood up, only to witness an advancing mouseking. Garmund of Triel was already terrifying, bloody battleaxe and all. But armour and axe were not the only things stained in crimson, as his eyes glowed with a deepest red.

The young otterlord could see the remaining part of his father's Otterguard being slaughtered left and right. The Trielians were never thrown into even the slightest bit of chaos during his ill-fated assault.

The mouseking charged at the otter, axe raised and screaming. Not screaming a battlecry, just pure, unadulterated screeching. Bedric was not paralysed by his fear, overwhelming as it might be. He spun leftward and dodged his blow, and attempted to parry his horizontal strike. His weapon being only a mere sabre, it simply could not withstand the immense force of the axe. It simply shattered under the impact.

The otter tried to escape to a better position, but a spear through the neck ended these plans. It never took long for Altayras Burelas to steady himself, pick up his spear, and charge at the king's opponent with haste.

Lord Bedric Swalestrom perished in battle at the age of nineteen seasons, and Southsward's hopes of delaying Triel has died with him.

For now, at least.

* * *

**A/N: Now the action finally picks up! Southsward has suffered its first real defeat due to proper Trielian planning, and Lord Becker will definitely attempt to avenge his son and his beasts once he hears of this loss. But plans were made, and they could not be broken as easily.**

**The road to Floret is open, but Bedric bought the Southards time to prepare themselves. They will be ready, and heroes of another story will soon appear. **

**We will go back to the Parmans and more politicking in the next chapter. Battles are not really common in Renaissance warfare, due to the increased value of sieges, so I won't be writing many battle scenes. That said, I'll always try!**

**Chapter 8 (**_**Weight of the World) **_**will be out on 5/6 June! **

**P.S. Allegiances are now up on the Redwall Abbey Community Forum!**


	10. Weight of the World

**Weight of the World**

* * *

**DOMA, LORDSHIP OF DOMA, KINGDOM OF OTHARN, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA**

Egil was glad to be on dry land after two long, tedious days at sea. The Sound may be a narrow passage, but the slightest bit of marine travel was able to make a certain green hue shine out from a face full of fur.

Thordan being Thordan, he obeyed his father's orders to the letter. The best defense is sometimes a good offence, and he led what little troops he had into Doman soil, hoping to cut off the troops of Lord Valdemar from rallying together. So far he has succeeded - four bands of Doman levies have been neutralised, their weapons and supplies wrenched away, and they have been forced to turn back with tails between their legs.

To seek a decisive battle here would be suicide. Lord Valdemar's son may find it safe to stay in the city of Doma proper, but if Sverker Crestworth does lead his troops out of the city, there is a high chance for Thordan's force to sustain heavy casualties in the process of being routed.

Lord Sverker Crestworth may be just as young as Thordan was, but his father and grandfather taught him how to lead soldiers on, while Thordan was quite lacking in martial ability. However, he was unwilling to take risks of any sort, buying Thordan ample time for besieging Doma itself.

Thordan was clearly not enjoying himself. As a healer, he was not used to being responsible of the deaths of other beasts, so he has right cause to be anxious. Egil had reminded him that panic will doom morale, and so Thordan did his best to hide his trepidation.

"We have to cut off all Doman access to the sea," Thordan said. "If Lord Sverker is able to take control of the Sound, an invasion of Meraholmer will surely be inevitable."

Egil thought for a while, then gave his opinion. "Why don't you try to take Doma? If Doma is yours, Lord Valdemar and his son cannot launch any offensive without their bastion here in Otharn."

Thordan Swalestrom was the only Lord in the Southern Realms to actually consider the opinion of vermin, after the passing of his grandfather. Even then, there are times when the easily persuaded lord can be surprisingly stubborn.

"No. Taking the city would likely lead to casualties on both sides. We will just box the city in for now, and we'll leave in about seven hours."

"But-" Egil tried to argue.

"Do not rebuke me!" Thordan snapped, causing Egil to mutter an apology. _How could _Thordan_ of all people suddenly fly into rages? He has always been cheerful and mild. Has his grandfather's death changed him so?_

Seeing the damage he had done to his friend's spirit, Thordan's ears dropped down. "No, Egil. It is I who should apologise. You have advised me well since the day we have met, and it is unbecoming of me to discount your counsel. But there are days that your counsel should indeed be discounted, and today is one of them. Please forgive me for doing as such, for we will have little choice but to turn back to Raevsvakt."

Suppressing the urge to inquire further into the mind of Thordan Swalestrom, Egil spoke. "We should at least retreat slowly and without panic, or else the Domans will pounce onto our rearguard."

Thordan nodded. "You are always able to give sound advice. You are Skuli's son, after all!"

* * *

**VARGO, LORDSHIP OF VARGO, KINGDOM OF OTHARN, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA**

Skuli has always enjoyed talking to his creditors.

Normally, they would simply deliver on their promises after a hearty meal and a drink, but King Erlend of Garlesca has always been a prickly otter.

The house in which the weasel resided was quite luxurious compared to the rest of his kind's residences - a symbol of a self-made beast's hard work and perseverance. Simple yet opulent in some ways, the manor was composed of a three floors, but there were no glamorous art within it. Merely a few paintings and tapestries were hung - just for their demand to increase and an insisted buyer to be found.

The dining room was not as spacious as some other merchant houses, but it still served its purpose. Skuli still remembered the first time Lord Thordan Swalestrom visited his residence and almost decimated the kitchen supplies. It took all of the elder weasel's self-restraint to stop himself from barring him from visiting ever again.

"Thank you for the meal, Mister Skuli." King Erlend expresses his gratitude while he wiped his mouth. His appetite may have been less than either of his sons, but they would surely be surpassed if the king was in his younger days.

"The pleasure is all mine." Skuli responded. "Now, Your Majesty eem to have collected a few coins during your Garlean crowning." When Erlend was crowned King of Garlesca, he managed to procure a large amount of gold from his subjects for the ceremony - and proceeded to rush through it, pocketing most of the raised amount. _He could even be a beast that could rule over the whorl of chaos currently engulfing all realms._

King Erlend's ears perked up. "Oh yes, yes. The money, right? I can only pay about a tenth of that amount." Seeing the weasel's eats drop and angered glare, he quickly added, "I will surely return the rest after the war of course."

"And if you lose your life fighting the Southards?" Skuli quizzed. "You see, anything could happen in war, and I would definitely desire to have some sort of guarantee."

"You need not worry, merchant," the otterking responded quite affectionately as he sipped his Parman damson wine. As was stated in our new contract, the next Lord of Kaldos would have the responsibility of repaying my debts, whoever that might be."

"What happened to 'my heir-general'?" Skuli continued to ask.

"I don't think I'm departing all of my territories in one piece," Erlend explained. "Sigurd gets Kaldos and Thordan gets Thavnair. You should call your boy back to you before I pop my clogs. Triel will not welcome your kind, and for him death would be better than the other things that they can do."

"Where are you headed to in the meantime?" Skuli asked his third consecutive question. He was an inquisitive beast, even compared to his son across the Sound, though Erlend was a willing answerer.

"Back to Triel. My sons will hold Dravania, and I will enact my duties as Duke of Thavnair. Triel needs me almost as much as I need Triel, and I have a personal score to settle against my brother and his so-called king."

"Very well. Here's the moment when you say something about hearts and minds, hmm?" Skuli asked sarcastically.

"Correct."

For the briefest of seconds, Skuli saw a phantom smile appear on the otterking's muzzle.

* * *

**KURBURG, KINGDOM OF OTHARN, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA**

"I, Lord Mestwin of Worrad, do solemnly cast my one and only vote in favour of Erlend, King of Garlesca, Duke of Thavnair and Lord of Vargo and Kaldos. He and no other."

Lord Niels watched as the fifth elector cast his vote. So far, one vote was for Lord Valdemar Crestworth and two were for Erlend Swalestrom. One squirrel elector voted for himself, and Bernhard of Lorsa somehow thought it prudent to vote for Niels of all beasts.

The Parmans have long claimed dominion over the entirety of the Southern Realms, and Triel and Southsward are subservient to them, at least in theory. For the sake of safer trade, the other two kingdoms are independent _de jure _as well as _de facto_, but Parman legitimacy still hold true.

_The beast on the Parman throne will surely be the one to solve this Trielo-Southard War. Valdemar will throw his weight behind Floret, and Erlend does not bother to hide his intentions, and a foreigner to boot. The future of the world lies in the balance of these very seven fools._

_The Swalestroms shall never be Parman kings._

"I, Lady Lorelei of Vargo, do solemnly cast my one and only vote in favour of Erlend, King of Garlesca, Duke of Thavnair, and Lord of Vargo and Kaldos. He and no other."

Lorelei cast her vote for her husband, which was no surprise for anyone within the room. The queen returned to her seat at the left of the room, ignoring Lord Valdemar's wrathful glare.

The Skywards and Crestworths have been feuding for more than a century, and the death of the last male Skyward has not brought an end to it. Born a Crestworth but raised by Thordan Skyward, Niels was put in an awkward situation. He cannot serve either house without betraying someone who trusts him, so he decides to take a third-option and serve the realm instead.

After the first election yielded no clear victor, Niels had no choice but to call another one. He was starting to get used to the awful business of ruling an entire kingdom while the second round shall yield no result, just like the first one. Otto Crestworth will not simply vote for the husband of the last surviving Skyward.

"I, Grandmaster Otto of the Shieldbrothers, do solemnly cast my one and only vote in favour of Valdemar, Lord of Doma."

The Shieldbrothers were an anomaly in a realm of lords and mayors. While lords inherited their position and leaders of free cities were chosen from one amongst themselves, the beasts sworn to defend Parma were always a special case.

To be a Shieldbrother, one must swear to take no wife and father no children, and to never betray Parma and her king. The organisation put Otto Crestworth (not to be confused with his more royal grandfather of the same name) at its head due to Crestworth prestige, and he did not betray their expectations. Getting another vote on the Electoral Council was merely a slight bonus.

_Yet another round with no king. _One can say anything about Erlend or Valdemar, but Parma needs a king as soon as possible. The majority of the Parman lords desire a weak king - one that will not interfere in their affairs.

In their eyes, Valdemar Crestworth was not an option. He was efficient, yes, but he has too much of his father within him. Erlend Swalestrom might be yielding, but his loyalties lay with Triel - a fact that the Parmans will not accept. Besides, electing Erlend would see Parma and Southsward at odds once more.

Niels stepped up from his seat. "As no candidate for the kingship could gain a majority of at least four votes, there is still no king yet. A third round of elections will be called."

_This does not help in any matters at all! They would simply fail to choose a king, and the whole thing repeats itself once more. No! Something must be done!_

"If the next election shall yield no result, all seven Electors will be locked within this shrine until a candidate is found and selected!"

"What? You cannot do this, Lord Niels!" Lord Valdemar was clearly puzzled. "We need all the time we need to select a perfect candidate, with no one better to take his place!"

"On the contrary, Lord Valdemar," Queen Lorelei spoke as she gestured at Lord Valdemar and the Grandmaster. "As I remember, my father, the late King Thordan II, left explicit orders to appoint Lord Niels, your uncle, to the office of Royal Vicar, performing all the duties of a king during an interregnum. Now a king cannot be found - we are not yet in agreement. Now, Lord Niels desires a true, ruling king, as does all of us. We indeed require a king, and we need him fast."

Lord Mestwin Worrad spoke up. "Locking us in here may seem like an unsightly option, but I will do what I must for a king." The mouselord continued, "I agree with Lord Niels' motion for these measures, extreme they may be."

Grandmaster Otto spoke next. "Parma cannot have a king unacceptable to her people. It is indeed a luxury to choose our kings, so we will have to do naught but to find time for a king who would do nothing for himself and everything for Parma. If we are to sacrifice our liberty temporarily to ensure a truly Parman king, it will be done."

Seeing glances of approval from all seven Electors, Niels declared,"It is settled then. My lords, you may return to your residences while you await a third election within the next two weeks." Hearing this, the Electors stood up and walked out of the door.

Only Lorelei of Vargo smiled when she exited the double doors of the shrine. Niels returned the smile, until he remembered that he will owe her a favour - a favour that will be called in _very _shortly.

A favour that could keep Parma inside Skyward paws.

He then put his paw up onto his face, covering it completely, finally catching on to his small mistake which shall lead to consequences which are by no means small.

* * *

**DOMA, LORDSHIP OF DOMA, KINGDOM OF OTHARN, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA**

Bertil watched with Lord Sverker while the besieging troops started leaving all of a sudden.

"They're leaving." Lord Sverker said for the umpteenth time as fires were put out, and anchors brought up from the boundless deep. He was always prone to staying the obvious, but he was not a dull beast at all, having a penchant for dry humour and irony. His capabilities do show up in other places, including when his father's city is under siege by their traditional enemies.

The otterlord continued. "It isn't like Thordan for him to just leave like that. His father would negotiate first, and so would his grandfather. Something must have happened to Thordan."

"My Lord, shall I give the order to pursue?" Bertil asked. "The Islanders are not prepared for an attack, and not a single beast is located in their defensive trenches." It was the perfect time to strike, and the meddlesome lord can perhaps be finally brought down. To be fair, Bertil liked the lordling - he actually treated the hedgehog rather well during his last visit. A pity he had to go.

"No. We remain in Doma." Seeing Bertil's visible confusion, Lord Sverker added, "Lord Thordan could be setting a trap for us. My duty here is to defend Doma during my father's absence, and not to hunt down enemy forces equivalent in size. To pursue is to go against my orders. We let them go."

"In the meantime, you get a mission of your own." Lord Sverker handed a folded and sealed envelope to the hedgehog. "Take this to my father. This letter should tell him to only go for Meraholmer if he obtains the Parman throne. If anyone else gets the crown, our own holdings are in danger of revocation."

Bertil nodded. Impulsiveness doomed Lord Canute, but his grandson sees fit to play a long game. But he remains oblivious to the fact that this game quickly increases in both pace and magnitude, and that there is still no lord of the whorl to carry the weight of the world.

* * *

**A/N: Bertil gets a PoV chapter! Huzzah! **

**After reading this chapter, you will have many questions. Why did Thordan pull out from Doma? What on earth is Erlend trying to do? How will Niels and Lorelei deal with each other? What happened to Isangrim? How did Thordan II die? You will get the answers to these questions soon enough - perhaps in the opening chapters of Book II (except for the last one, of course - you will have to wait a bit longer for that).**

**Chapter 9 (**_**From Fear to Fortitude**_**) will be out on 12/13 June! Stay tuned!**


	11. From Fear to Fortitude

**From Fear to Fortitude**

* * *

**VERNOLL, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD**

By the time they pursuit ended, Denebas' unit had captured no less than fifteen soldiers.

He knew not how many his beasts had slain, of course, being crossbowbeasts. Skirmishers like them were usually deployed at the beginning of battles like this, then used to search for a fleeing enemy, or to slow down a pursuing force. They never knew if their bolts struck true, but loosing towards amassed beasts usually meant that that was indeed the case.

After making sure his captives were secure, Denebas rushed back to congratulate his brother - only to find that he was in no mood for congratulations. Guiding his spear through another squirrel, he turned to look at his brother. Deneb quickly drew his rapier (still kept from the incident back at Raevsvakt) and hastily joined his brother.

But there was no course for alarm. Nearby on the battlefield, a certain axe and its wielder was blazing into enemy lines. Tearing his axe out of one foe, King Garmund blocked a blow from a hare, and slid his paw forward, so that the hare's sword was trapped under the king's arm. Another strike from the axe saw the hare's head _fly _away from his body, long ears and all.

Denebas always had problems with punctuality, but this was never a normal situation. Rapiers were never good against armoured opponents, like the mangled mess on the ground. Lord Bedric fought hard and well against the Trielians, but superior tactics and strategies always triumph over raw bravery and impulsiveness. Deneb pitied him.

His Jaysian sabre lay beside him, a lonely thing tent away from its wielder. Jaysians compensates their poor iron quality with high calibre forging skills, and they were highly prized in the islands. Here, however, it was but some object that failed to cut apart the lightest of plate armour within one strike. Add to its troubles a lack of stabbing ability, it can even be called worse than a rapier. Against the average soldier though, it was effective - and brutally so.

Around the fallen otterlord allay a ring of bodies clad in red - all guards that tried and failed to retrieve his corpse. Their loyalty to their lord and master was admirable (for Denebas and perhaps his brother too), but they had better causes for loyalty - namely, Triel.

The battle was swiftly over. When Bedric and the now absconded General Ralos charged into the Trielian line, they found that their defenses have been stronger than they first expected. The Southards began to waver, first in a trickle, then in a flood of flesh and fur. Only Bedric's suicidal charge was able to stop King Garmund from giving the order to pursue. Before long, the brothers could finally get a rest after two hours of continuous fighting.

"You fought well, brother." Altayras praised. "It appears that you have captured a few soldiers."

"Think nothing of it, brother. You killed one of the traitorous Lord Becker's sons! That I don't think I could do." Deneb gushed.

"Well, as Duke of Burelas, I had to serve my king in all ways possible."

"And as your younger brother, I get to serve you!"

Altayras twitched. "Speaking of which, I have failed to thank you properly for saving me in Raevsvakt."

Denebas shrugged his shoulders. "Don't worry. You'll get a lot of chances to repay the favour later. I may be far away from you, but I fight so that you don't have to."

Altayras shook his head. "I am just afraid we cannot save each other when the time comes for one of us to … you know, perish."

"Perish? You really _are _afraid of the d-word, are you? I thought I was the cowardly one, but if you are well and truly scared of a _word_, you would need to harden yourself, and fast!" Deneb jokes, earning a weird look from his brother.

"Stop it." Despite his mostly serious tone, Altayras' voice hid an ounce of humour within.

"So what are you going to do now?" Altayras asked his brother. "King Garmund ordered us to rest for a few days before we march to reunite with Somerled and his own host."

"Oh? I'm going to write back to sister."

"Can I help in any way? I intend to pay a visit to your camp of prisoners later." Seeing Denebas' surprises glare, he quickly added, "I'm not going to torture them or anything! I'm just going to ask a few questions."

"Well, somebeast has to keep you from exploding with rage, so allow me to tag along." Deneb replied. "I will do my best to help you!"

Altayras quickly flourished a grin. "Thanks!"

* * *

**EASTERN PARMAN SEA**

Meanwhile, on the other side of the Southern Realms, another set of brothers (with the exact same temperaments) are not getting along not as well as the squirrels.

Lord Lorcan knew that being stuck in some sea smack-dab in the middle of nowhere was not good for one's mood, but Alfyn was clearly fuming after almost a month at sea.

'Fuming' was actually an understatement. Like any good Trielian lord, his brother thrived in battle - Raevsvakt served as a testament to his usual method of problem solving. When you have to be restrained from violence from _vermin_, you know something is odd.

Alfyn did not savour violence, unlike some other beasts Lorcan knew. But the euphoric sensation of charging into battle is one that Lorcan would never enjoy. During the last meeting of him and Lord Thordan (which was at Avelyn's wedding), he asked Lorcan to keep an eye on his brother, like any elder brother would do.

But Lorcan was merely older than Alfyn for about a mere ten minutes, and Alfyn simply was not content to be under his guiding paw for long. He was, as Lord Erlend would say, a loose catapult, perfectly content to do things is own way, and wilfully ignorant of what others expect of him.

When tensions flared once more amongst the two brothers, Lorcan did nothing as his brother moved from the flagship to one of the cogs. The _Boundless_ may have got its name for its great speed, but a smaller ship moved faster as per the laws of physics (which Lorcan knew well). It shall seem that Alfyn was _that _interested in seeking excitement from the destruction of his enemies.

An arrow embedded itself within the door of Lorcan's cabin, bearing with it a message hastily scribbled on a piece of paper. Clearly surprised, Lorcan untied the string holding it together, and happened across Alfyn's signature pawwriting, if one could even call it that.

_Dear Brother,_

_Lord Erlend Swalestrom is on my ship. He requests to be let on your ship, as he has a really important message to tell you._

_P.S. All right, I will come too._

_Regards,_

_Lord Alfyn Stalwart, Heir to the Trielian Otterguard_

_This may be bad, _thought Lorcan. _If Erlend's here, what he has to tell us is mostly unfortunate news._

It was about a quarter of an hour before Erlend was able to board onto the _Boundless. _This was the first time Lorcan saw him in full armour and with his spear, confirming Lorcan's suspicion.

"It is not usual for you to carry your spear into a brief conversation, Lord Erlend." Lorcan stated your observation.

Erlend pointed at his weapon. "I need Heavensward here for a reason."

When Thordan of Parma gifted this spear to his new son-in-law, it came with this name. Erlend thought of named weapons as an unnecessary concept at first, though he has grown to like it The spear was taller than its wielder, as spears tended to be, but the spear was made of meteoric iron, and the hooks on the tip (obviously for trapping other weapons and removing armour) proved it was forged by a true master.

"Lord Swalestrom - also known as my brother - has a fleet that has just been sighted. He is careening towards us at a steady pace. Battle will be joined within days."

Alfyn's eyes revealed his long-lost enthusiasm while Lorcan's face remained impassive. He knew that he had come for reinforcing Erlend's sons. One of them was his brother-in-law, while he was involved in raising the other. They needed all the help they can get, and that meant battle.

Yet Lorcan never expected to find battle before finding Thordan or Sigurd. He would have to rush in and rush out. He _did _read a lot about ships, and at least he could tell 'starboard' from 'larboard', or 'port' as the younger generations called it.

While there were many factors to fighting on land, naval warfare always manages to get more complicated than its terrestrial counterpart. Even the slightest wind could decide everything. _I wish Alfyn was in command. He actually fought before, so surely he would know what to do._

It was no more than two hours before the Southard ships emerged into view. _We may be prepared for battle, but our beasts are exhausted. This could go either way. _

He knew that the Southards are preparing their own well-rested yet surprised beasts, and by the time his Trielians got to them they will be ready, and armed to the teeth. He would have to play safe.

"Tell all paws on every deck to slowly retreat, but not to let the Southards get out of view." A herald passed this information to the rowers down below.

Trielians usually used vermin-pulled slave galleys for marine travel, but within the last five seasons Lorcan has received advice from King Winchell of Jayso (who was also a Trielian vassal as Duke of Obring) to recruit sailors from woodlanders, just to be on the safe side and prevent incessant mutiny. King Garmund has also received reports on the relative efficiency of hired, professional woodlander rowers as compared to slaves. Where the king got this information from, Lorcan knew not, though all evidence points to the Parmans and their surprising ability to tolerate even the most unsightly of vermin. Alfyn had informed his brother that King Thordan oof Parma was in active contact with a sable-furred fox - adding more cause of suspicion towards Triel's neighbour across the already narrow Obring Strait.

The Southards may not be prepared for a battle - Erlend's only purpose was to lure them to sea of their choosing - but Becker is a wily and resourceful beast like his brother. After all, snakes are more suited to aquatic environments than foxes.

As if on cue, the Southards were quick to call for a parley session. Erlend's Parman vessel quickly hurried on his way, stating that King Garmund was waiting for him, as was his Thavnairese troops, who were without a leader for now.

_King Garmund must have engaged the Southards by now, _Lorcan thought. _What happens on the border, I will know later. _

"Tell Lord Becker that we will not attempt parley. Peaceful negotiation is not an option when dealing with traitors."

_Now, this is our fight. My fight._

* * *

**DUSKAI, DUCHY OF OBRING, KINGDOM OF TRIEL**

Two fiefs, two realms.

Winchell Baleblood ruled over a Kingdom and a Duchy, but both were subservient to other kingdoms. No chance of independence from both of them.

His father with the same name had at least tried to wrest the Jayso Isles from Parman control, but Thordan of Parma soon put an end to these plans by an alliance with Triel, intimidating him back into line, and ensuring that his father would waste the gold used to fund his navy - the navy that he will now use.

Winchell had been Duke of Obring from ten seasons prior due to his mother's death. The Six Duchies of Triel are shared equally between mice, squirrels and otters, and the two of the same species were always rivals, with only no more than four exceptions within Triel's four hundred seasons of history.

Limse and Gridain were the mice duchies. Unlike the other two, they are not hostile towards each other - mostly due to the fact that Gridain was in the paws of King Garmund's eldest son, granted to him by his mother's untimely death three seasons previously. Duke Randyll would not dare revive old rivalries - especially if it means gaining royal emnity.

Burelas and Deilart - those two were very different stories. Deilart was Trielian long before Winchell was born, but Borellian acquisition led to two centuries of on and off warfare, causing the dukes to embrace a never-ending struggle. Duke Somerled may have allowed peace with his western neighbour by his daughter's betrothal, but anything could happen.

Thavnair and Obring did not border each other - they opposed each other due to the last two duchesses marrying a set of Parman rivals. Winchell may have only been crowned a year before, but the succession was still unclear - his sister's son should clearly be overshadowed by his grandson, but Eliska won the right to marry Thordan's elder grandson via tournament, causing Winchell much distress.

Konrad (or Corrado, depending on the translation) Truetide (not to be confused with his father) is just a boy of five, but he is Thordan's great-grandson and eventual heir, and Winchell cannot simply let him receive his forefathers' land - the land they have fought to prevent from falling into Parman paws.

The other option was Garrion Swalestrom, or his younger brother. The loss of one nephew complicated things slightly, yes, but one of the others would have to do. They would have no problem opening up a second front against the Trielians, and the Jaysian navy could change the war in their direction.

Finishing his will, Winchell quickly stamped his seal on the letter. Both Jayso and Obring were in good paws (if not _safe _paws), and Garrion would be his successor in both territories. Being the last of the male-line Balebloods was quite a complication, but naming him a surrogate son would convince the Jaysian nobles to accept Garrion.

A shout emerged from the door to his solar, and another soon followed. Winchell's ears perked up, and his heartbeat was heard more clearly than ever before in his life.

Then the door was opened, revealing a black-furred vulpine figure, holding a crossbow with both his paws. A whizzing sound was emitted by the weapon, and King Winchell of Jayso felt only a small prick when the quarrel entered his abdomen.

He tried to scream, but found out that he had not the strength to do so. Instead, he simply keeled over as his eyesight darkened, like a proper deadbeast would do.

The last thing he ever heard was the fox saying something he couldn't quite discern, and the sound of paper burning.

* * *

**A/N: So we have got an army destroyed, a naval battle coming up, and a king slain by familiar paws. Things have gone from bad to worse for Southsward, but two new (or old, depending whether if you read TBBU) pairs of paws will offer help from where it is least expected. They will get to shine in the next chapter! And there will be much rejoicing!**

**In the meantime, you will get Isangrim back in some later chapter. (It is not etched.)**

**Chapter 10 (**_**Blood for Blood) **_**will be up on 19/20 June.**


	12. Blood for Blood

**Blood for Blood**

* * *

**VERNOLL, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD**

When Bodvar saw the two squirrels, he knew that he was getting into more trouble than what was expected.

For one, he had tried to crush the lanky one's head with a mace, so he knew that something serious was heading towards him. He had only learnt of the squirrel's identity hours after his defeat - he had almost killed a (rather high ranking) noble, and the consequences can be much more severe than killing commoners.

He only had his paws bound - if Bodvar had laid a paw on the muscular squirrel, the results would have been much, much worse for the otter. While Denebas was a naive, bright boy, new to the world of battle, Altayras Burelas took to war like a fish to a stream. Borellers were warriors, he knew, and submitting to Triel voluntarily took no toll on their spirits.

He had succeeded in taking exactly no enemy lives - a toll not befitting for a captain of the Otterguard, and he has lost Lord Bedric in the chaos of fighting. At least he knew that General Ralos has escaped successfully with most of the beasts under him - not doubt remaining a thorn in the tail for the Trielians.

His brother was with him, so Bodvar assumed that he is now safe. _I wonder how Birger is doing. Better than me, I suppose._

He did much better the last time he had went to war. The beasts from Greymorg were close to killing him a few times, though his comrades were able to drag him back from the grave, and he was able to repay the favour a few times. Of course, facing a few vermin was one thing, but facing a disciplined army of woodlanders was another. The ability to keep and create cohesion was a critical factor in open battle, and the Trielians were masters of this craft.

The two squirrels were of course trying to get him to reveal any secrets about future Southard operations, but judging by the lack of any instruments of torture nearby, the Borellers were clearly not intending to do any lasting damage to him. _Then what on earth will they try to do to my mind?_

The burly squirrel spoke first. "I am Duke Altayras Burelas of Triel. I will be in charge of the extract of information from you. You're a Captain, right?"

"So what if I am? I can't tell you anything. Not because I am not allowed to, but well… I simply have no idea. I haven't seen my superiors since the battle." _That, at least, was completely true._

The younger brother quickly tugged his brother's arm and whispered in his ear. An agonising minute passed before Altayras opened his mouth once more. "Very well. We here will ask four questions. After you have responded to two of our questions, you get to ask one of your own. Do not attempt to deceive us - we have ways to tell truth from lie. Is that clear?"

Bodvar quickly nodded as the younger squirrel asked his first question. During his training as a soldier, Bodvar was told to only give his name and rank - nothing more._ But Borellers are sticklers for honour, and if I can convince them to trade information… never mind that they get four questions and he only two._

"What is your name?"

Bodvar expected the first question. In his training days, the first question an enemy would ask was always about his personal identity.

"Bodvar Waycaster. Captain Bodvar Waycaster."

Without giving any reaction to Bodvar's answer, the elder brother asked his own question. "What do you expect we will do to you?"

This was a hard question indeed. Bodvar stuttered a bit before he managed to blurt out a coherent sentence. "I think that you would like to torture me for information, obtain information that may or may not be true, and proceed to torture me for fun."

Denebas looked confusingly at his brother, who returned the exact glare. "It is your turn to ask now," the younger gray-furred squirrel said.

"What happened to Lord Bedric?" he blurted out. Drat! _I shouldn't have wasted one of my questions like that so easily! They would tell me this later to break my spirit - or something similar to that._

"Oh…" Lord Altayras seemed to be more than slightly embarrassed. Ashamed, even.

"Some idiot soldier who was lazing behind the battlefield got him with a spear." Denebas piped while his brother glared at him. Then he asked another question.

"What…" Denebas smiled as Bodvar's ears tensed up, clearly anticipating some question that would pry vital information.

"What is your favourite colour?"

"B-Blue. Oh wait. Green! Green!"

All of a sudden, Altayras grabbed Bodvar by the neck and hoisted him into the air, eyes burning with rage. "SO IS IT BLUE OR GREEN?"

"Green! Green!" Bodvar screamed.

Denebas giggled while his brother's snout showed the beginnings of a phantasmic smile. _This is not going well for me. I wonder what Birger would say._

"Final question!" Denebas openly grinned. _Oh no._

"Whatisthecapitalofparmabeforetheskywardsbecamekings?" Denebas rushed.

"What?"

"Denebas! You spoke too dear guest cannot hear you."\

"Sorry." Denebas spoke again, much slower this time. "What is the capital of Parma before the Skywards became kings?"

"I don't know that!" Bodvar replied. _If you ask me about history of foreign countries, do not expect me to provide a good answer!_

"Hmm…" Altayras then said, with an almost downright evil grin on his face. "If you cannot answer this question, you don't get to ask your own. Farewell."

"Then what's the point of all this? You don't expect me to know all of this, do you?"

"I expected Lord Bedric to." The elder squirrel clamly answered. "You hesitated before listing out your colour, so you are not a beast given to your own opinions. However, you don't know the answer of the third question, so you are not that well educated - concluding that you are not close with Lord Bedric. Grilling you for more questions will be an exercise in futility. Consider yourslef on probation."

Denebas chimed in once more. "For now, at least. And pray that we will not return!" Smiling devilishly, he turned and made his way towards another of many prisoners.

Bodvar stared at them with his mouth agape as they exited the tent.

* * *

**MACOLT, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD**

Garrion woke up underground. Well, that was what seemed like.

Catapults may not hit a thousand pawsteps by a two hundred pound projectile, but they can do a lot of damage. As if falling for such a distance was not enough, he was buried under a pile of rubble as tall as a shrew (which was much more menacing when you are buried underneath it).

He was inspecting one of the towers when the rock hit. As his father expected, the fort was almost immediately besieged by Somerled of Deilart, the Lord who called himself a king. Ridiculed as a pretender by the whole of Southsward, Garrion had to agree that 'King Somerled' was the Trielians' sick idea of a joke.

After their first parley session went up in smoke (almost literally, Garrion would like to add), the False King was not in any way inclined to pull any punches.

His brother Bedric charged blindly into battle and perished as a result, a fifth of Floret has been burned to the ground, and he was trapped underneath what he was supposed to protect.

There was a sound coming from above, caused by the scraping of metal and rock. Garrion could do nothing as the noise became louder and louder yet. His eyelids clenched shut, and he braced for an impact with a Trielian soldier awaiting a trouvaille.

That impact never came. When light finally seeped into his eyes, two tall and muscular otters were staring at him.

"Sir! Captain Evran! We've found 'im!"

More and more beasts converged, all wearing crimson Otterguard uniforms, pulling away rock and stone. Before long, Garrion was being carried away on a stretcher. An armpaw and a footpaw were broken, but his internal organs were mostly unharmed - certainly a miracle that there were no signs of bleeding, external or internal.

Yet another miracle was that Deilart had been forced back by a surprise attack by some Swordbeasts, returning from Ralos' ill-fated southward strike. Of course, Lord Somerled will be licking his wounds and making another attempt at an assault, but his chances have been soundly reduced, and he would have to retreat to preserve the integrity of his whole army sooner or later.

Fort Macolt was the penultimate gateway to Floret, with Fort Riddian being the last line before the very capital was breached. Floret had only been taken by trickery, stealth and voluntary submission before - and never by force or storm.

Besieging Macolt was a good idea, and both Garrion and his father expected that to happen. Lord Becker Swalestrom always warned his sons of underestimating their opponents, and warned Garrion that 'Somerled is no fool'.

_Assaulting _Macolt, however, was not a scheme as bright as the former. Lord Somerled may be no fool, but he somehow is edging himself towards becoming one. Perhaps he believed that the fort would be under-garrisoned, or that the only way to break Floret's lines of communications was to take the stronghold fast. Of course, a more logical explanation would be that the squirrel lord acted upon his impulses once more.

He shouted to one of his bodyguards. "Do you remember who the two that saved me were?"

He heard a few turning of pages, then a response from some inaccessible place.

"Ah, yes! Otters, both of them were. Galen Snowpath and Dirk Tillwaters. They join'd the Otterguard from the bounty huntin' business, and are now currently in the field."

"Carry me to them now. I wish to meet them."

* * *

**THE SOUND**

Lord Becker has received no communication since the day he and his force set sail, so he did not expect the Trielians so far way from Arnet. He originally wanted to stall for a bit of time, but the opposing side clearly knew what was planned.

It was not natural for a lord to reject an attempt at parley. And Lord Lorcan Stalwart must have known this. Older than his brother by no more than an hour, Becker's opponent must barely younger than twenty-two seasons, and was quite a bibliophile. A scholar in a line of warriors. An anomaly. An aberration.

But Becker knew that no Trielian should be underestimated. After all, he is strong in body and mind alike, and he must have brought his twin here.

Alfyn Stalwart was one of the first beasts to locate and rescue Thordan Swalestrom, so he will not be like the beast he saved. He is more martial than his brother, and defeating the duo will not be easy.

Going for Meraholmer and Thordan seemed as easy as turning a paw, but the Trielians seemed to foresee every move he made. He had only told Godred about his plans, so either the Trielians have spies of the highest caliber, Godred failed to keep his mouth shut (which was quite ironic, considering Lord Becker's own difficulty) or the Trielians were just that lucky. Judging by their scrambled reaction for battle, Becker would say that the third possibility was true.

Thordan Swalestrom was no threat. Becker knew that without having to guess. During the boy's stay at Floret about three seasons prior, Becker (not-so-silently) watched him crawl away from every single problem rather than to face it, and sticking his muzzle into the nearest book he could find. Only himself and Bedric were able to coax him out.

Truth be told, he was not really that bad, considering his parentage. His mother was the son of one of the most unscrupulous kings in living memory (and was too similar to himself for comfort) and a wily, conniving Parman herself, and his father was… Becker would not go there.

There were times when Lord Becker thought him the key for Triel to drop her claim over Southsward. Being next in line to the Duchy of Thavnair, Thordan would bend at the slightest of pressures, either from Becker or his sons. Not that he would be a _bad_ ruler on his own, but having a biddable kinsbeast as one of Triel's bulwarks would certainly be a great boon for Southsward and her population.

Of course, things went awry the moment Young Thordan was made Lord of Meraholmer.

Lord Canute Crestworth decided to 'nip the problem in the bud' without consulting Becker, and he paid the ultimate price for it. Having access to both sides of Southsward coupled with a genuine chance of obtaining the throne of Parma meant that Thordan Swalestrom was to become a great thorn in the tail for Becker and Southsward, whether he wanted to or not.

He had to be neutralised in some way or the other.

Of course, he never told King Gideon about his own thoughts. The last time this happened, his liege sent an assassin at King Thordan, only letting Becker know after he was ordered to incite Triel into war. Thordan was dead before the assassin even got close to him, and Becker could not risk being responsible for the death of his namesake, or Erlend would make sure that his brother would perish slowly.

_And probably in great pain as well. If I lost any child of mine to the Trielians, I would do the exact same thing._

He snapped from his musings and walked out of his cabin. Tales have been told after every single sea battle of old - death and injury, and the waters stained red in gore and blood. But Becker cared not for these. His beasts were ready to die for their kingdom.

_And so am I._

* * *

**A/N: Now things are really going to heat up! This chapter took me three weeks to write due to a busy schedule, so I hope none of you were disappointed. **

**Becker is one of the more interesting characters I have written. Well, I haven't actually written much, but you get the idea. As for Bodvar, he's one of my personal creations, though Birger Waycaster is one of Jade's.**

**Frankly, this is my first chapter that could be counted as 'filler'. A few characters have been introduced, but nothing of large happens. But as Jade said, 'in every chapter, filler or not, there will be a little nugget of information, so keep an eye out'.**

**P.S. For what happens to Garrion's segment shortly after, see Chapter 32 of TBBU.**

**Chapter 11 (_Under the Weight) _will be up on 26/27 June.**


	13. Under the Weight

**Under the Weight**

* * *

**INGOLPART, KINGDOM OF JAYSO, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA**

"Do you, or do you swear to defend your realm?"

"I swear." Corradino didn't know what was said to him,but at least he knew how to respond.

Being only a boy of five seasons, one might wonder what business the otter had when he swore the first of three oaths. Such an important task was not left to children, after all. But the most desperate of times create the most desperate of beasts, and Corradino was needed here.

'Corradino' means 'little Corrado' in Garlean, and the boy's father and namesake watched approvingly as his son swore the first of the three customary oaths when a Jaysian king is crowned. Winchell II, second and last King of Jayso of the Baleblood line, lay dead at the paws of an unknown assailant, and dying unmourned was to be the last of a series of misfortunes the otherwise unremarkable king had to endure.

His mother Eliska was not as warm as her wife. After all, she had to put on a bold, dramatic face when she had to read out the oaths for her son. Winchell's only child, Lady Eliska Baleblood always had a poor relationship with her father, which was not helped by her swift marriage to Corrado, the grandson of the King's sworn enemy - High King Thordan of Parma.

"Do you, or do you swear to defend your subjects?" the highborn otterwife bellowed out.

"I swear." Another oath was said in Jaysian. Corradino only had the most rudimentary grasp on Jaysian, as the tongue of the Islanders was not related to any other in the vicinity. Triel and Parma may just be on the archipelago's two sides, but Jaysian showed no similarities with Obrinska or Garlean, and Trielo-Southard was a far cry compared to this tongue. Being a foreigner, King Winchell was very much surprised to hear that a simple toast of ale required the use of five syllables.

Perhaps not surprisingly, King Winchell was not well liked by anyone from Jayso, his sister Anzeka being the sole exception. The young otterpup in front of his mother had quite a poor impression of his grandfather. _I don't like him. He's always mean to Mother, and says unkind things behind Father's back. I wish he was Great-Grandpa. He always smiled._

Corradino was shaken from his inner thoughts by his mother, who shouted aloud the third oath. He didn't need to know what it meant in Jaysian.

"I swear."

A mouse that he did not know stepped up, wearing the finest silk bearing a sword made of the finest of steel. Corradino knew that it was Stormblood, the legendary weapon of the Jaysian kings, wielded by every single one. Though it was used here as a ceremonial weapon, it had been proven to be deadly in battle as well.

"Then accept this sword through the paws of those who fight, who unworthy, yet consecrated by the authority of the rights bestowed on us, impart it to you by divine ordinance for the defence of the realm. Pursue the false and the unfaithful, help and defend widows and orphans, restore those things which have fallen into decay and maintain those things thus restored, avenge injustice and confirm good dispositions, that doing this, you may be glorious in the triumph of justice and may reign until the end of a long life."

The young king brandished the sword (with considerable difficulty due to his youth) for the cheering crowd, not once or twice, but three times, one for every oath he swore. A squirrel, clearly less well-groomed than the mouse, held in his paws a golden sceptre, and handed it to the king.

"Accept this rod of virtue and equity from the paws of those who work. Learn to respect the brave and to intimidate the coward; guide the straying; lend a paw to the fallen; repress the arbitrary and raise the just, and fill the hearts of your subjects with wisdom."

Then came the apex of the whole ceremony. A golden crown was brought forth from the crowd, with numerous images of previous kings etched of the whitest of enamel. Jaysian royal power came to be represented not simply by any common crown, but by just one specific object: the Crown of King Istvan. Legend dictates that any usurper that claimed it were fated to die within a single season, as it is the personal property of the long-dead Founder of the kingdom - possibly a story fabricated to ward off anybeast who coveted these isles.

Jaysian kings are accepted only on three conditions, and being coronated with King Istvan's crown was one of them. The other two dictated that the king was always to be crowned at Ingolpart Shrine, and by the Palatine of Jayso, who in this case was (rather conveniently) the king's father. The document that conferred him this title may have been of dubious legality, but he was always quick to seize control of the realm in disarray.

This also meant that the Kingdom of Jayso was a special state: they were not looking for a crown to inaugurate a king, but rather, they were looking for a king for the crown. Corradino of Garlesca was a child, and it would take more than a decade before he would reach his majority. It is most definitely in the interest of local nobles for the Garlean boy to ascend to the throne. Never before had a king so young sat on the Jaysian throne - two were ten when they were crowned, but as the Jaysians say, 'five is right out'.

The other choices were Garrion and Godred Swalestrom, grown otters who have been known to be headstrong and loyal to Southsward. In his last will, Winchell declared Garrion his successor, though its legality has been successfully disputed by his daughter. Holed up in Macolt and unable to move to Jayso, Garrion was quickly denied as a possibility. The Duchy of Obring _has _declared for Garrion, though as a Trielian vassal state, it would not be likely for him to accede.

Corrado the father decided that it would be time to play his part in the extravagant ceremony. "Be steadfast and hold fast to that place of which you have become heir by succession from your forefathers, and let your right paw be strengthened and your left paw be exalted. Let justice and judgment be the foundations of your throne and mercy and truth go before your face."

The father then put the crown onto the son's head carefully, so that the its weight would not be too uncomfortable for the boy. Even then, Corradino needed much effort to keep his posture upright - crowns were heavy objects, and this one was four and a half pounds - not _light _in any sense of the word.

The moment the crown was set on Corradino's head, the beasts standing below the stage, noble and commoner alike, shouted aloud, chanting the traditional phrase used since three centuries prior to this day.

"Life!"

"Health!"

"Happiness!"

"Victory!"

The loudness quite obviously startled the young king, though his mother was able to keep him calm after a few whispers into his ear.

After a few moments in the shrine, during which the cheering grew softer and softer, Corradino was led up to a hill, built up from soil from every single island. Drawing Stormblood from the sheath (again with a small struggle), the newly enthroned King of Jayso pointed the weapon towards the four cardinal directions - an act of symbolism to protect his kingdom from all four sides - which again drew cheers from the ever-growing crowd.

The next few moments passed exactly like a sharp gust of wind. After swearing once more to protect his realm and all it holds, Corradino was quickly marched back to the castle to receive the homage of all of his subjects. Noble and peasant alike came to greet him - a child can surely do no harm to anyone, can't he?

Then came the feast. Corradino sat between his parents as dish after dish was served to him. Shrimp and hootroot soup came first - a favourite dish of every otter. Corradino's soup was heavily diluted with the soup before having it served to him. After having everything tested for poison and other harmful substances (which took way too long, Corradino thought) he finally was able to taste it. It was not as good as what he had heard. _Perhaps one day I'll be able to try the real thing!_

The other soup Corradino liked much more. Fish, baby scallops, clams, shrimps, mussels and squid were mixed together in a tomato broth, and garlic, pepper and sea salt were swiftly added afterwards. Having never had anything like this back in Garlesca, Corrado took his first sip. More followed swiftly, and the whole bowl was empty within the span of a few minutes. Two more bowls were downed before Lady Eliska stopped him from procuring a surfeit of soup.

Bread and pies came next, and Corradino savoured every mouthful. Then came larger courses, like woodpigeons and fish, some of which Corradino never seen the likes of, and he tore into them with gusto. The Garlean penchant for food and more food was only surpassed with wine and more wine, though the child was barred from drinking more than a small goblet.

Dessert came last, as was customary. Beasts carved out of marizpan, woodlander and vermin alike, supported another marzipan structure - one molded into the exact shape of the crown Corradino wore just hours previously. All sense of discipline was quickly tossed into some corner invisible to anyone else as the otterpup tore into the strcuture.

After a night of ceremony and celebrations, the young king could finally cast of his heavy coronation robes, and get a good night of sleep.

Infancy had just ended for Corradino.

* * *

**EASTERN PARMAN SEA**

In little more than a thousand hours, Thordan gained a lordship, lost and regained the very same title, lost his grandfather, and was leading a military force for the first time in his life.

Now was not the time to have excessively vivid nightmares, but here he was.

He was standing on some kind of disk, with the areas near the fringe surrounded by many smaller circles (thirteen, Thordan counted), and the proper edge was coated with a golden ring.

But there was only one thing Thordan was interested in. Not a thing _per se_, but a beast.

He (probably a male, anyway) had all the distinguishing features of an otter. A tall, slender body, four webbed paws, and a strong, powerful rudder that can knock a beast over - like Canute Crestworth did back in Raevsvakt about two months before. He looked young, and a few ottermaids would easily fall for him - if he was still alive, of course.

"At last, I've found you."

Thordan flinched. That voice was familiar. He had been hearing it for the better part of two weeks, and it had finally grown to a coherent form three days ago. _"Turn back,_" it sounded before. "_Win or lose, you cannot be victorious if you are hindered in Doma._"

Seeing Thordan's panicked reaction, the lutrine figure shifted his posture, to assuage the young lord that he was no threat. "Please! There is no cause for alarm! Though, I confess, that I have not expected to meet you _here_, of all places. But the place of our meeting is of no consequence - like the war we - no. Like the war _you _wage." The voice echoed around the plane, loud and clear, but Thordan was clearly not interested in these formalities.

The figure continued. "The better path leads you here. To me. I have need of you."

"Who are you?" The usual question when encountering unknown figures was uttered softly.

"I am afraid such questions would have to wait. We have precious little time, and your work is not yet done, as well as mine. We have barely bonded to the point that you can see me. I would simply say that I am a comrade of Isangrim."

"None of this makes any sense."

"None of this has to," the figure countered. "All you have to do is to sail westward."

"But Raevsavakt is in the other direction! What do you want me to do? FIrst you tell me to turn away from Parma, then you tell me not to defend my lordship! You have no idea what's at stake here! You have to send me back! Now!" Thordan snapped agitatedly.

"You have to see your father for the last time before everything starts to unravel. Adulthood has just begun for you, Thordan Swalestrom, and every single trickle of time must be cherished. It is etched."

He continued, "You simply cannot be crushed under the weight of knowledge, cursed or not. You will know who I am soon, and then you will be glad that you know. But now, we shall go towards the same destination using separate paths."

Before Thordan or the otter could speak another world, a crack suddenly manifested in the disk. It spread outwards and outwards, until everything started to burst apart, sending both otters flying into different directions.

Thordan's eyelids detached from each other when he sprung from the bed. _Getting back to sleep will not be an easy task, _he sighed as he lay down again, awaiting a more pleasant dream.

Childhood had just ended for Thordan.

* * *

**KURBURG, KINGDOM OF OTHARN, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA **

Of King Thordan's three last orders, two have been completed.

The first had been to take care of the business egarding Young Thordan Swalestrom.

The second had been to ensure that King Winchell followed him to the grave.

The third was to obey every single order given to him by Lorelei Skyward.

"So I'm forbidden to rest until _when_?"

The black fox moaned and groaned while his master watched impassively. Of all beasts, there was but one he feared, and she was standing in front of him.

Thordan Skyward's 'list of trustables' contain nine individuals, and though Isangrim was one of them, he just could not get to work with any of them.

Thordan Swalestrom was a boring, wispy child that made Niels Crestworth seem interesting by comparison, and his brother Corrado Truetide was temperamental and passionate, only outclassed by his mother.

Which brings him to his meeting with Lorelei Skyward on the eve of the Third Electoral Session.

"Your work is still unfinished. We still have to hunt him down!"

"But why? It isn't that we could catch him now! It was done from far away! You can't expect us to hunt him down here and now!"

"At least we have some clues. The strike that finished off my father was done with Thaumaturgy - the area of your expertise."

"At least we have enough evidence to deduce that a vermin killed him, that's certain. Thaumaturgy says it all. But what has all that have anything to do with the mole?"

"Thordan reported that the hunter had almost slain him by taking him by surprise. He could Conjure better than any woodlander had done before!"

That was a problem. A very big one, in fact. To the average Mossflower vermin, seers are danger, pronouncing curses upon entire villages, and leading warlords to victory or death. To the average Mossflower woodlander, seers are frauds, who gained access to the ears of powerful vermin warlords, and are the best way to frighten disobedient children. To Isangrim and Lorelei, seers are but conditions the Fates have inflicted on them - conditions King Thordan had decided to weaponise.

Thordan Skyward had the gift of the seer as well, as well as its limitations. He utilised season after season to study this specific state, and his results shall prove most useful in the future.

Though he was dead at the moment, his lingering will should be around them, especially if everything was to plan. However, he was separated from them at his own insistence, in order to slowly (yet surely) bring Thordan up in the ways of the seer. Being the bookish, ever-curious boy that Young Thordan is, Isangrim is completely sure of his success.

But the problem was not either one of the Thordans. That would have to wait.

"I think I would have another mission for you. Carrying Father's soul to Thordan was no dangerous quest. You'll get your rest eventually."

Isangrim grumbled under his breath. The last three seasons have been quite taxing on both Master and Apprentice. Sure, the Gates have been opened, but they were not the only ones to benefit from the world's new state. After a few more expeditions, and finding a disciple to call his own, Isangrim still could not get his rest. But still, he will eventually take a break. This may _not _be etched, but there is still a high chance.

"Your duty is to investigate the Southards. Rumours have started to spread that they were complicit in Father's death, and Thordan might just be another future casualty of their rampage."

This seems to simplify things. Corrado Truetide never seemed to like the black fox (though he got on with Hersent quite well), and it is a stroke of luck for Isangrim that he did not inherit the Skyward seer traits - perhaps his father was not the right choice. Young Thordan was, as usual, the unlucky one. Isangrim has yet to see what his Gift is, but it will not be useless in the trials to come.

"Should I take Hersent with me?" Isangrim asked. The Apprentice was a fox like Isangrim (blimey, does Vulpuz favour his own kind), though with grey fur instead of Isangrim's black. Mossflower vermin called him 'Pallpelt' when he was on that mission from ten seasons ago, and he has decided to use it as a byname when he travelled North of Southsward, as well as his little sojourn towards that blasted place he would do well to forget.

"No. She will stay here. You don't know what you will face."

"I'm just saying that-"

"She's _fifteen_, Isangrim Pallpelt. She's younger than _Thordan_, for Fates' sake."

Before Isangrim could utter another word, he sensed Lorelei's glare - an obvious bad sign if there ever was one.

He decided to slink out of the door as fast as he could, before he made any more mistakes.

_I thought I was the one taking charge after I made that otterwife my Bondbeast. Gates. Now I have become a Skyward pet through and through, notwithstanding the fact that he's on the other side of the grave. Vulpuz help me._

"Wait!" barked Lorelei. Isangrim turned to meet a wooden box being thrown at him. Catching it before it was able to bruise his muzzle, he took a look at the container. It was as unadorned as any box could be, but when he asked Thordan what it contained, his mentor refused to give a straight answer.

"Go on. Open it. It's yours now. You know full well that I can't use it."

Isangrim clicked open the box, and flung the top open. Barely managing to keep his composure (and struggling to prevent his jaw from dropping), he grinned.

Apprenticeship has just ended for Isangrim.

* * *

**A/N: I finally broke the 3K limit!**

**TBBU has already demonstrated what seers can do in Jade's works, and I've decided to take them a few steps further. Expect the unexpected, and RAFO*!**

**How will Garrion fare against the Truetides? Who is the mysterious figure speaking to Thordan? What on earth is Lorelei planning? The next few Isangrim chapters will start to get **_**very **_**hectic, so watch out for anything!**

**Chapter 12 (_Beneath Bloodied Banners_) will be out on 3/4 July!**

***That's 'Read And Find Out', for people who don't know.**


	14. Beneath Bloodied Banners

**Beneath Bloodied Banners**

* * *

**BLESWYN, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD**

_My dear cuckoo, thou have so pied feathers,_

_Oh thou fly dear cuckoo to my father and my mother,_

_Thou fly dear cuckoo to my father and my mother,_

_And do not tell dear cuckoo, I was killed here,_

_Do not tell dear cuckoo, I was killed here,_

_Oh tell, dear cuckoo, I was made to marry here,_

_Tell, dear cuckoo, I was made to marry here,_

_Oh I was made to marry here by a thin spear in the paw._

The troops continued to sing their melancholy war song while Altayras marched in front of them.

Music and song were always a big part of Boreller culture, and they quickly blended into war like wine in water. As a nation with a warrior culture, many songs have been composed to be used by troops on the march. However, there are some scholars who argue that the character of these songs was not march-like, but more lyric or epic. In time many wartime historical songs became war ballads, a unique genre all its own, and one that was alive and thriving to this day.

Burelas was subsumed into Triel only partly, as it was simply too well-defended by both natural and beast-made reasons. On one paw, the region was surrounded by the Greatrange on the North, and the Greymarsh on the other. Few lands can be fortified by invaders, whether Southard or Trielian, and what few forts they have build were quickly abandoned - no supplies could reach them safely.

On the other paw, invaders do not simply drive themselves away. Whether it was Rikard Swalestrom, Skipper of Floret and King of Parma, Ronnel of Gridain, whose army was great enough to rival kings, or Niall Deilart, whose house has had an intense rivalry with Altayras', they all tried and they all failed. One fell into a swamp and met his end at a speartip, another lost his entire baggage train (and thus the loyalty of his mercenaries), while the third managed to escape nearly naked through the swamps.

The cause was the ability of the Borellers to fight anywhere and everywhere. Armed with the lightest of armour and the wieldiest of weapons, they could appear in one battle, and vanish until the end of the season. These 'dances' took long enough, but war has ever been a game that can only be won with patience - which Altayras lacked.

He knew his faults, of course. His father made it all too clear to him. Calming a wrathful head was hard enough when Altayras was at rest, but everything seemed harder on the march. _How could Denebas even manage?_

His younger brother, of course was roped into the singing. More Trielian than proper Boreller, he always did his best to force himself into being a warrior. Try as he might, Denebas was more poet, bard, or something else. He could do everything that does not involve steel better than Altayras, but he had failed to wield a spear like his brother - after much struggling with everything else. Killing Lord Canute Crestworth did not help matters. _At least he's a better leader of beasts than I am. A level head _does_ help matters._

Snapping back to reality, Altayras raced to his brother.

"Denebas! Can you please tell your troops to sing something else? Mourning songs really aren't for marching."

"You want something more lively? How about _The Golden Throne_?"

"Turning yourself into a tree to avoid being a soldier does not help with morale. How about something else?"

"Consider it done." As the youngest of three siblings, Denebas was quickly accustomed to submitting to the wishes of others - even more than Young Thordan Swalestrom. Although this reverence may have brought Altayras many advantages, he secretly wished that his brother will grow a spine.

After much gesturing, the troops quickly sung a much more cheerful melody.

_He trumpeted the first trumpet as he was riding off from the inner yard_

_As he was riding off from the inner yard..._

_He trumpeted the second trumpet as he was riding off from the outer yard_

_As he was riding off from the outer yard..._

_He trumpeted the third trumpet as he was joining the troops_

_As he was joining the troops..._

_I shouted loud and all the troops looked at me_

_All the troops looked at me..._

_And all the army had turned to me_

_The army had turned to me..._

_And a troop of Southards has come, a troop of brave ones_

_A troop of brave Southards..._

_When we've stood in the field, we've knocked all the Southards out_

_We've knocked all the Southards out.._

_Us Borellers are still strong, we were kings and we still are!_

_We were kings and we still are!_

Of course, only one Boreller had taken up the kingly mantle before - and he only had a knife in the chest to show for it. Submitting to Triel might had been a humbling moment for the entire duchy, but this had allowed them a break in an age of constant warfare. Towns were rebuilt and developed, and trading relations started to normalise.

Even Deilart had to concede a few contested territories. With Burelas and Deilart guarding the Western and Eastern passes of the Greatrange, the Trielians had to notice that a peace had to be made and kept for more than a few seasons.

A marriage contract was quickly signed by Altayras' father and Duke Somerled three seasons prior, and the young Boreller was all set to marry Lady Morag, only child of the Deilarn noble. She was perhaps too talkative for any lady, but Altayras knew beasts who were much, much, worse. He'll handle the marriage well enough - if he survives this whole cesspool of a war.

Altayras decided not to sing alongside the troops. His brother would not like that.

* * *

**EASTERN PARMAN SEA**

Erlend was clearly not expecting his son.

Now, in the middle of nowhere, his youngest child suddenly intercepted his ship towards Triel.

A raucous awakening in the dark of night would not be odd in any way for a parent, but his son was nearing his seventeenth season - already of age. Thordan is no squalling babe having trouble sleeping at night any more.

"Why are you here?"

"Father, I…" Thordan stumbled on his words, like the boy was prone to do. "I have come to see you off."

Truth be told, Erlend was not quite a speaker as good as his brother. Thordan managed to share this trait with his father.

"Why so? Who told you I'm here?" Erlend said as he slightly raised his voice.

"It… it doesn't matter." Thordan said softly, averting eye contact. His son was never the bravest of beasts, but tonight he seemed even more unsure of himself. "I er… chanced upon your vessel, and decided to drop by."

Surprisingly, he rushed forward and hugged him, the first drops of tears already dropping from his eyes. "I… I fear that we won't meet again! Ever!"

Thordan has already lost a close relative barely two months before, and losing another would seem preposterous for Erlend. Parting his son on the head, he provided wisdom a father could provide. He may have been cold towards his wife, but she was now the only surviving mother of his children. Thordan was his son whether he wanted it or not.

On the day when Thordan left for Redwall, father and son had a small conversation. Erlend (rather tactlessly) asked Thordan if he wanted a replacement for a father. A flood of guilt washed over his face as Erlend realised that he cared more about Heavensward than Lorelei.

But Thordan was always able to provide an answer pleasing to anyone, despite being oblivious to the normally impassive Erlend's flash of sudden emotion. "I have only one father," he said, " and I do not need another."

"Father?"

Erlend snapped back into reality.

"Um… you spaced out for a moment - like I am prone to do too often." Thordan continued to avoid his father's gaze while the words leaked out of his mouth.

"I'm fine, son. Don't worry about me. I can handle myself well enough. Look after your tail… and Egil's too. Skuli's going to kill us all if his son dies on your - our watch. Honestly, why fret so much? You suddenly bring seven ships, _fail to attack Doma_, and just oh-so-conveniently chance upon me? You're going to get gobbled up by the Southards in a week, so shape up and fight!"

Thordan's ears sprung up. "The Southards are here?"

"Yes. They're just across the Sound. Lorcan and Alfyn Stalwart are dealing with them right now. Grueling sea battle. Must be bloody. The waters painted crimson, and other things poets and skalds would say. How about you go help them? We don't know how strong they are. A bit of extra beasts and steel can help much more than mental support from the safety of your own ship."

"Thank you for the advice, Father. May your heart and mind guide you forth. And may we meet and speak again." Thordan said as he wiped his tears off his muzzle.

"Fine, fine. I already told you that there's no need for worry. Now go! Your old friends await you!"

* * *

**THE SOUND**

Erlend was usually right in his little predictions, and this was no exception.

Alfyn barrelled into an otter, and his shield quickly delivered a heavy blow to his lutrine muzzle, after which his sword was thrust all too quickly into the Otterguard's shoulder. The mouse quickly collapsed mid-scream, before falling into a pool of his own blood.

Lorcan had warned him about the dangers of naval combat. He knew all too well that ships are no simple battlefield terrain, and a simply slip may lead to death by stabbing, crushing, drowning, impaling or simply heatstroke.

Alfyn thought Raevsvakt was an affair bloody enough, but this was his first experience in open war. He'd fought off bandits, vermin, and even the occasional guard, but this was all too different compared to his experience in rescuing Thordan.

Beasts huddled in heaps, living or dead notwithstanding, while the metallic stench of blood surrounding the air. Not helping was the already strong smell of seawater, which assaulted Alfyn's nose with all the intensity of a sudden explosion.

To Alfyn's shock (and Lorcan's horror), the Southard navy had grappling hooks - a piece of technology the Trielians did not have. With both sides being evenly matched in number, the initiative had to be given up.

The wind was blowing in a good direction for the Trielians, but they were not able to take advantage of it due to the agility and maneuverability of the Southard ships. Adding the hooks to the equation meant that the chances of a Trielian victory were slowly slipping away.

Lorcan led from the back, as was customary. Too important to get himself killed. Alfyn's brother often told him that fighting alongside his soldiers can provide a boon in morale, but Skipper Lorcan paid him no heed.

It would actually make sense that Lorcan would shy away from the front. Although he was much better at the intricacies of leading beasts to war (and back), he was not accustomed to violence. Lorcan had a disposition all too gentle. He liked to think things over slowly and never liked to be careless. When around other beasts, he moved carefully, afraid that he might accidentally break something or hurt someone, unlike Alfyn who uses his size to his advantage. _Now is a bloody good time to break something or hurt someone, Lorcan_!

Alfyn would have no choice but to forge onward. The hooks brought the Trielian ships nearer to the Southards, but this worked both ways as well. With so much ships stuck together, this clash has become no different from a battle fought on _terra firma_.

The tactics of both sides were similar, as Lorcan had told him mere hours ago. Pepper the other side with crossbows, longbows and slings, and rush there with heavily armoured knights. This strategy was risky, but so far no other way has been invented. Both Becker and Lorcan would have to rely on more conventional methods of warfare.

"Give the order to advance!" shouted Alfyn. "Show those Southards what we can do!" His soldiers shouted their own battle cries after Alfyn's energetic response.

"Rend! Kill! The white raven flies!" The white raven, being a central figure in the founding myth of Triel, was known to every single inhabitant of Triel (the only exception being the vermin slaves). The royal banner was the image of a soaring raven, and the soldiers took delight in it.

Things died down for a moment, then a piercing roar arose from the Southard ships.

"The Bell has rung! The Bell yet rings! Free Southsward!" The Floret Bell was a design of Joseph the Bellmaker - the 'Second Founder' of the Kingdom of Southsward. Like the white and black ravens of Triel and Parma, the golden bell is the symbol of Southsward, and it is said that it will ring when Southsward is in grave danger. _In danger from Southard idiocy, that is_.

"I want those ships _gone_!" yelled Alfyn. Lorcan may have been passive this whole time, content to shower the Southards with arrows, while staying back from melee combat, but Alfyn was, in fact, not Lorcan.

The grappling hook hit the railing of the Trielian galley, and both ships braced for impact. Soldiers rushed to reinforce the port sides of their respective vessels, and with a mighty crash they made contact.

The whole situation quickly descended into chaos. With scarcely enough time to form up, beasts simply barreled into each other, drawing blood with every motion of their paws. Maces collided into muzzles, and arrows were loose at breakneck speed.

Plunging his sword into a hare, Alfyn spun around, knocking down an Otterguard in the process. All around him, chaos reigned supreme. He blocked an arrow shot from the other side from the ship, and had to sidestep a bolt from a certain crossbow-wielding hare. Seeing an axe cleave that offending beast's head apart, he turned back and leapt into the fray, crushing another member of the 'sacrosanct' Otterguard

Twenty minutes and around a hundred corpses later, Alfyn could finally take a short break. His beasts were exhausted as well. Weighed down by their arms and wounds, the otterlord thought that they deserved a rest as well.

But now was no time for rest. There is a significant chance that he might never see his brother or daughter again - anything could happen in a war. But Lord Alfyn Stalwart had been taught to gamble wisely and take his chances.

"You!" Alfyn shouted as he pointed at a mouse - a soldier of Triel.

'My lord, do you need me?"

Moving his paw a bit to the left, and thus pointing at a Southard vessel, Alfyn asked as softly as he could, "Do you see that ship over there?"

"Y-yes." The mouse said as he panted.

"I don't want you to." Alfyn breathed as he seethed with rage.

* * *

**MACOLT, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD**

King Somerled was never an observant beast, but even he was intrigued by the state the Southards were in.

Garrion Swalestrom not being dead was no surprise. King Garmund had warned him about the tenacity of his family, whether on his side or not. The fact that an arm and a leg of his were crushed and broken clearly did not matter to him, but it mattered very much to the squirrel.

After parleying once with the young Lord Swalestrom (and failing), almost taking and actually burning a part of Floret, destroying the supply lines of the Southards, and almost squishing Garrion Swalestrom into tiny little bits, it was very kind of the otterlord to invite him to parley. Again.

The Southards were beginning to gain the upper paw on his own forces - survivors of the Battle of Vernoll are quickly crowding towards the otter lordling and his crew, though none have actually made it to him. Somerled had little time here.

"What terms are you willing to make?" the squirrelking asked.

"We ardently desire your withdrawal from this land, and for you to resign your title that was given to you by legitimate, though misplaced authority."

"These are high-pawed terms indeed." Somerled said as he stared at the otterlord's bodyguards. Apparently a new face have decided to stand next to Garrion, The figure belonged to a muscular otter, and his grey eyes revealed a determination that his master's hazel pair was never able to possess. "I fear I am able only to achieve the former. I don't think the latter can be done without King Garmund's approval - these are but talks for a truce, not a full treaty."

"Hmm…" the otter mulled on his words for a few seconds. "I don't think we can simply let you leave. You have done enough damage here already. Villages and settlements burnt to the ground, mothers killed alongside their children… Will your greed ever end?"

Somerled tossed out his reply nonchalantly. "That depends on the magnitude of your rebellion."

"Then we have no choice but to resume our battle," said Garrion. "If any mother loses her son, if any wife loses her husband, if any daughter loses her father, there is no one but you that they can blame."

"Oh, could there be indeed?" The squirrelking stood up. "Your father just waltzed into King Garmund's throne room, disrespected _everyone_, and walked out like nothing ever happened. Could he be held accountable?"

Before he exited the parley tent, he made sure to twist the knife unknowingly embedded within the heart of the otterlord.

"Oh. Your brother's dead."

* * *

**A/N: Another chapter ended. The next three chapters will signify the end of Book I, and please keep your eyes peeled for unusual developments!**

**Chapter 15 (_Frontiers Within) _will be up on 7/8 July! Yes, I know it's not a Thursday. Deal with it.**


	15. Frontiers Within

**Frontiers Within**

* * *

**THE SOUND**

For Lord Becker Swalestrom, everything was going well for once.

Lorcan and Alfyn were tenacious opponents, and they are not to be underestimated. Lorcan was a beast able to keep a cool head in the most adverse of circumstances, while his younger twin had boundless will and courage. Aside from that, their bigger-than-little physical condition shall prove to be a massive boon for one-on-one combat.

Dividing them proved to be all too easy.

Driving a wedge between the two started with a deliberately overextended ship or two. Lorcan will simply sit back and shower them with projectiles, getting in range in the process, while Alfyn would simply ram into them at full speed.

The twins were unstoppable only when together. They depended on each other too much. Without bravery, what good can thought do? Without introspection, what benefits can boldness reap? Over-specialisation made the Stalwarts strong and weak at the same time.

Leading from the rear was not seen as particularly brave by most beasts, but Becker and Erlend can get behind that idea - one of the rare things they can agree on. Erlend started life as a shy, timid otter, and would probably end life that way.

Becker was different. Loud and boisterous, he could be a real friend to whoever asking - providing that they are loyal to Southsward, of course. Bedric observed that King Garmund of Triel and King Gideon of Southsward would be beasts that people would go to ask for help and assistance (and in no other circumstance), while Becker and Erlend were the otter brothers that everybody _liked_. Everybody except each other, apparently.

He barked an order. "Get more ships focused on Lord Alfyn." If one brother was taken down (by capture, incapacitation or even death), then the Southards would have a much better time dealing with the other. "Send two more to block Lord Lorcan's communications. And send a few more to swing back and attack on my order."

Lord Becker went back into his cabin. As befitting a commander and captain of one of the most majestic vessels of the Southard navy, his quarters on the _Halberd _was the most open. Lit candles lay on spaces designed for them, while their unlit counterparts lay all across the deck. The tempting lure of his bed was agonisingly tempting, but Becker decided to sit and muse upon the future.

After the battle was won, Lord Thordan Swalestrom is expected to fold easily. Becker knew first-paw that Thordan was little more than a pushover, and that he'll do what the beast next to him tells him to. The struggle to reach Thordan was the easy step - becoming 'the beast next to him' was a much harder struggle instead.

Sigurd Swalestrom, on the other paw, was unruly. He was only loyal to his father - and nobody else. Becker would be sad to see him go - though his death was necessary for Southsward to triumph. Better have a weak, scholarly teenager as Lord of Kaldos than a trained, hostile warrior placed in such proximity to their Parman trade route.

Becker knew full well that Erlend was a poor parent compared to his brother. He may have been an intelligent otter, but managing a fiefdom and taking care of children required two completely different sets of skills. He may have had children, but he had never been a father.

Erlend showed obvious care for no other beast than 'Lady' Sigrid. She was a commoner he picked up in Kaldos, and they continued their adultery even after his marriage to _the _greatest heiress seen in the Southern realms - a very unwise move, though there were no consequences to be seen. The elder Thordan and his daughter turned a blind eye, while the younger disapproved of the liaison, but liked her well enough as a beast.

Becker's affections never shifted toward any other female, unlike Erlend, Lord Alfyn or every single Garlean male over the age of twenty seasons. The otterlord may have only met his future bride after the betrothal (an already unconventional move, but Southsward was desperately in need of alliances), but it only took all too little time for them to fall in love with each other. This, coupled with the fact that Becker vastly preferred his marital and parental duties to those of a lord, made them a stable anomaly in a world of lechers and prudes.

As any son of a lord should be, Garrion was proud, and rightfully so. He was intelligent and a bibliophile, and he was brave on the battlefield as well. But he moves too quick into action sometimes, making every mistake an otter can make along the way.

If Garrion jumps into action with the speed of a rushing river, then Godred would leap into the fray just as swiftly as a bolt of lightning, with the sound of thunder accompanying his every move. He was brave, all right, and is clever enough, but Becker once theorised that impulsiveness would be the doom of his second born son.

His daughter's doom would be the exact opposite vice - inaction. She had been betrothed to a host of otterlords - Corrado Truetide, Lorcan Stalwart, Sverker Crestworth… the list goes on and on. The first two have been (happily) married to different ottermaids, and the third is closing in on a betrothal with Beatritz of Aldernan. Becker only hoped that his daughter could find a husband worthy of her (and him).

Of course, there would be no omitting of his last child. Bedric Swalestrom may have resembled his mother in looks, but his heart and personality was his father's through and through. He may have been (unintentionally) neglected by his parents, but Becker promised to care more about the needs of his lastborn.

There was a knock at the door before a beast blundered into the room. Raising to his footpaws, Becker quickly awaited the oncoming message. He was on the verge of victory - not a lot of things could damage the _status quo_. Even if something unexpected happened, Becker can still react accordingly.

"Islander ships have been spotted near the Trielians. Thordan has brought the fight to us."

The lord sprung to his footpaws, and ran out of the cabin, knocking down the messenger in the process. He spoke true - seven more ships suddenly sprung from the far reaches from the ocean, the fox banner of Meraholmer up on top of every single one of them.

"Sound the retreat!" shouted the otterlord. "We have destroyed more ships than them, so we are victorious! No need to linger here!" In any battle, an orderly retreat is better than a rout. Most casualties on land battles are caused by cutting down fleeing remnants of a defeated army, and this is most likely the case at sea as well.

_At least the Islanders didn't appear from our backs. That would have been disastrous. _Ships began to move away from the battle, Southard-made and recently captured Trielian vessels alike. The beasts actually believed that they have won. Becker knew otherwise.

_Heavens cast you down, Thordan Swalestrom. Your mother raised you well._

* * *

**MACOLT, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD**

On the other side of the world, beasts are killing each other for the exact same reason.

Dirk Tillwaters had just received a promotion to the rank of Captain, which was a pleasant surprise compared to being thrust into battle again.

It all started when a scathing remark by the Trielian squirrel who calls himself king was heard by Garrion Swalestrom. Gale told him that the hall was thrust into violence almost immediately, and only the timely intervention of a few guards on both sides saved the nobles from further physical harm.

Dirk turned, tearing a Trielian hare's stomach apart. The battle was nearing its conclusion, with the Trielians close to breaking point. All this for three words and a truth revealed a bit too late. _Stupid highborns and their refusal to quit._

As Lord Garrion is still currently incapacitated by his injuries, he has (quite shockingly) appointed Galen to serve as an impromptu replacement, to Dirk's joy and a few other nobles' chagrin. Garrion had only met Galen and Dirk for only less than a month - an incredibly short time for him to be appointed a commander. He was actually doing quite a good job even without experience - better than the snobby lordling himself would have done. An extended talent in producing flanking maneuvers proved to be decisive against the False King of Triel. This, added to Ralos' Swordbeasts (Sword somehow being an acronym for the Southsward Order of Defence) returning from their disastrous encounter in Vernoll.

Dirk and Galen had been friends when they met, when Galen wandered into the streets of Norleth, helping Dirk in his little bounty hunting business. He was the beast who found clues while Dirk searched for the beasts who were connected to these clues. They worked for two seasons until the war broke out, not being well-off by any means, but that was still better than starving to death on the streets of Floret.

Galen Snowpath was a Northerner from Mossflower, though his accent does seem that he came from somewhere else - but that didn't matter. Dirk remembered that he was more than slightly shocked by a tidbit of Gale's origins when he blurted a name out in a drunken stupor, but good partners are hard to come by (and good friends even harder), so Dirk didn't pry.

The pair had saved Garrion from rubble back in the ruined fort, and the lord was quick to reward them. Galen quickly accepted Lord Garrion's offer of being one of his bodyguards (Dirk has always taught that Garrion trying to recruit them is some sort of 'reparation' for two deceased guards who were crushed in the rubble) while Dirk has refused the offer. Garrion gave him a captain's role as an 'alternative compensation'.

Leading his little unit forth, Dirk met a mouse's blade with his shield, then tripped him over with his rudder. A stab to the throat followed immediately, and Dirk had just enough time to avoid an arrow, pulling out his sword in the process.

The last few Trielians swiftly lay down their arms, after taking enough time to allow Lord Somerled to run away with his tail between his legs. He will not live long - Dirk was sure of that. The travelling pine marten told him all too much about that.

He could see Garrion congratulating his soldiers who fought well, and speaking to a squirrel dressed in blue and a few medals clinging to his uniform - General Ralos, evidently. The squirrel had only taken a light wound in the shoulder, but he is expected to recover. His weary, greying face says it all - the battles will only increase in number - until any parley actually works.

* * *

**HILDRINN, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD**

It was a brutal sight.

Countless bodies were piled up together, preparing to be buried in some grave far away from the fortress and the city. Southard and Dravainer may have been at each other's throats when alive, but in death they will never be separated in any way.

Godred looked at his cousin's corpse, still clutching his sword. Wielding it is an advantage in a duel, but in open battle this can doom a lot of glory-seeking beasts. Having a few arrows in the limbs were not enough to kill Sigurd Swalestrom, and the bolt in the head could be counted as some sort of twisted mercy.

Some may have called Godred rash when he had ordered the assault, but the results have been worth it. No defender had expected an all-out attack on the city within a week of Lord Becker's departure - Sigurd least of all. It all started through a concerted rock barrage into a weak spot in the wall, with no more than ten archers protecting it. While Sigurd was still blinded by his own pride, Southard forces surged into the citadel. Sigurd lay dead before his footpaws, while his sister and the Strandsors absconded too fast for him to chase after them without risking his troops. Traps are everywhere, and Godred would not like to hand over a victory.

Truth be told, Godred always thought that his father was not that wise going after Thordan. He did not _like _Erlend's sole surviving son - his brief stay in Floret has seen to that. A mere scholar cannot be a threat to the realm, can it?

Sigurd's twin was another story - the fact that she remains unmarried in particular. The fact that she could marry any male with a rudder could be most damaging to Southard morale - Haakon Strandsor's paws are rumoured to be closing in on her, and Raimon of Aldernan couldn't wait to open a second front against the Parmans via the Sound. At least the married Lorcan Stalwart could not take her as his bride. That would be disastrous for Southsward.

Avelyn Stalwart never accompanied her husband towards Dravania, so there will be no worry of a posthumous child, waiting to avenge his father. Never mind that - his siblings and father will take charge from here.

If they survive that long.

* * *

**KURBURG, KINGDOM OF OTHARN, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA**

"What's your name?" the otterqueen asked.

"It's... it's Hersent, Your Highness." The teenage vixen shuddered. Isangrim had told her about the capricious nature of noblebeasts, but this was her first time meeting royalty. The fact that there was nobeast else in the room did nothing to assuage matters for her.

"Ah, yes. You might wonder why you were called here, Hersent." Lorelei's voice was as soft as a cord of silk that was just used to strangle somebeast.

The vixen continued to tremble fearfully. "Master Isangrim told me that he would be away in a while, so he would send me here until he returns."

"He told me to continue your training in the meantime." Queen Lorelei smiled. "Every second cannot be wasted, as Parma has need for seers like you."

"Forgive me, but Master said that vermin make much better seers as compared to woodlanders. He said that you teaching me would be like fish teaching birds to fly, or birds teaching fish to swim." It was true that vermin are much better at controlling the powers of a seer compared to woodlanders, which was also why Conjuration is much, much less effective than Thaumaturgy. That was what Isangrim claimed, at least.

"Well, young lady, there _are _swimming birds and flying fish. My father has seen both and lived to tell the tale." Taking a deep breath, she continued. "I _can _fill you in the gaps in your training, alongside more practical skills, but on a few conditions." The grey-furred vixen's ears peaked up in interest.

"First of all, you would have to arrive when and where I want you to be. Like I said before, we don't have much time, so we would have to seize every moment."

Hersent bowed. "Understood."

"Then you would have to promise not to allow yourself to gossip or meddle in political matters."

"I can do that, Your Highness." _That's easy._

"And at last you would have to assume the guise of one of my maidservants. I will not burden you with any labourous tasks, but simply leaving you around would cause a few suspicions. At least Isangrim was known to be Spymaster in my father's days. Mayhaps you can ascend to that role in the future."

"That is but a small price to pay for the knowledge you will pass to me, Your Majesty," said Hersent as she tried to suppress a smile. _She was going to learn from Queen Lorelei herself!_

"Then come to me. We have much to discuss."

* * *

**BLESWYN, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD**

It only took less than a few minutes for Captain Bodvar Waycaster to leave the camp in which he was held. The guards were easily distracted, and the few ones that failed to look away at the right moment were easily incapacitatedt. Slinking out into the darkness alone was not easy, and only one of his subordinates went with him for fear of discovery.

"Captain, the exit's there." Pickner was not any beast with great capabilities, but he was brave and reliable. The mouse was observant too, and Bodvar liked him for this gift the most.

"We should take a detour. The guards there are quite obsessed with keeping us in." Bodvar replied, while pointing in the other direction. "We should probably make a big distraction before actually going away."

"How 'bout lighting a fire somewhere? The Trielians will surely go to investigate."

"Nah, that's overused and rather inefficient. Where are we going to get a fire without being seen? And can we run fast enough to avoid getting caught?" Bodvar said as he continued to scout the area.

"Good questions. How are we going to leave then?" Pickner asked.

"Hmm… Rushing out of the front doors is simply too risky. Any more solutions?"

"I don't think we have other options, but rushing out is simply foolish. How about we try something sneakier?"

"You have an idea?"

Pickner whispered in the otter's ear, "Well, we can try to sneak up from their backs, and surprise them once they know we're escaping."

Bodvar grinned. "I have a better idea." He whispered back in his companion's ear.

He walked up to the nearest guard, a dull-looking mouse, and waited for a response.

"Who are you? Why are you here?"

"And no lies!" shouted the hare next to him.

"Evidently, I'm Captain Bodvar Waycaster of the Southsward Order of Defence and I'm trying to escape. After this, I intend to run for the hills and laugh while my army destroys yours completely and utterly. Satisfied?"

"Seems like a lie," the hare said as he yawned. "I asked for the truth!"

"I dunno, I think he's tellin' the truth here," replied the otter as he had his crossbow loaded and trained at Bodvar.

The hare snapped. "If he were telling the truth, he wouldn't have been so forthcoming, you idiot!"

Bodvar decided to butt in. "That indeed is the case, unless of course, I knew you won't believe the truth even if I told it to you plainly and simply."

The mouse was well and truly confused. "What does that-" He couldn't even finish the sentence before Pickner whacked him hard on the head with a stick. The hare barely had time to react before Bodvar rushed him, placed his paws on his neck, and waited for the hare to go under.

Seeing no trace of more soldiers, the pair quickly slipped off into the Southard plains.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry for the earlier upload! I think I'll pull a Highwing and upload the las three chapters if Book I very, very close to each other.**

**And so Book I is close to ending. The story, of course, will continue, and the plot will only escalate from here. The next two chapters will be even more hectic, so watch out!**

**Chapter 14 (**_**Through the Maelstrom**_**) will be up on tomorrow!**


	16. Through the Maelstrom

**Through the Maelstrom**

* * *

**SJOVIN, LORSHIP OF SJOVIN, DRAVANIA**

"Just how many have we lost?" Gustav Strandsor hollered. Sjovin Castle was quite a draughty building, and tbeing in a land just coming out of winter did not help the situation. Huddled near a fire, the otterlord sat with his son and a special guest.

"My brother lost three fifths of his force, all but two of his officers, and his life back in Hildrinn." Sigrun Swalestrom barely managed to escape the doomed siege, and absconded with her brother's remaining troops. They had to retreat to safe territory in the middle of the night, and the poor Dravain roads did not help.

"This is bad…" Haakon Strandsor sighed. He was a pensive young otter, with much experience in administering his father's fief. In contrast to his father's rashness, he was a calm, deliberating lord, more inclined to think than to do. His father was one of the foremost lords in Dravania, and his marriage to a Swalestrom bolstered his prestige threefold. Haakon Strandsor may have been the only fruit borne from this union, but Gustav insisted on not remarrying.

"We need to regroup fast, and we need your father back, Lady Sigrun. He started the whole thing, and without his guidance we cannot win! I threw my weight behind him, and he doesn't even appear! I should have just pulled a Rueford!" Gustav Strandsor raged, leaking profanity after profanity as he jumped up and down like an angry child.

"Father, I think that you should be a bit more… dignified, seeing that we have a Swalestrom in our presence. Haakon then turned towards Lady Sigrid. A son of a commoner she might have been, but she behaved as dignified as a noble would, and she was considered legitimate by her father, if not by anyone else. "I apologise for my father's actions. I hope you do not take umbrage to his behaviour."

"I am not offended - not by that, anyways. What are you two planning to do anyways? I know you Strandsors are feuding with the Ruefords for the better half of two centuries, but this is no excuse to exclusively target their lands while you could be helping us!" Sigrun was clearly looking for somebeast to blame, and two were sitting in front of her.

"We-" the elder Strandsor attempted to speak up, but his child was quicker to move.

"We have little to offer, Lady Sigrun. We have received no orders, either from Lord Erlend or your brother." He decided to switch the subject. "We should probably move to Kaldos now, Father. Godred's host must be heading towards us as we speak."

"Well we cannot retreat forever, can we? We need somebeast to guide us through this whorl of a situation - a maelstrom of chaos." Lord Gustav Strandsor's eyes seemed to glow brighter than the fire in the room. "We need any Swalestrom to become the whorl's lord. A leviathan to guide us through the maelstrom. We need a King of Dravania."

"A king?" Sigrun Swalestrom leapt to her footpaws. "Dravania hasn't got a king for a century!"

"Have you got a better idea, my lady?" Lord Haakon chimed in. "Dravania is divided. Its lords turn against each other even more than the Parmans, and everything we do seem to have no effect! We need someone to lead us, and it had better not be the Southards!" said Lord Gustav emphatically while moving further away from the fire and closer to the walls.

"But who- who can fill this role? The original Ulfingers have all but perished - all of us have been Southardised!"

"When Erlend the Ulfinger, last King of Dravania, left this world to join his Southard wife, he asked his descendants to promise that separation of his Southard and Dravain titles. A bit too late for a blasted rogue who ruined everything he touched." Lord Gustav sneered.

Seeing Lady Sigrun's confused look, Lord Haakon quickly added an amendment. "He did not mean to insult your ancestor, Lady Sigrun. Please forgive him."

"Your father spoke naught but truth, Lord Haakon. Dravania has been cast down hard by his claim and subsequent destruction of the Dravain throne." She moved closer to the fire. "It's almost depressing how poorly we have come to be."

A bellowing voice rung out from the back of the room causing the younger nobles to turn their heads towards Lord Gustav. "Not if we have this!"

The sound of cloth unfurling was quickly heard, followed by a startled gasp from Sigrun.

"The wolf banner! But how- how on earth could you have gotten your paws on that?"

"Lord Haakon Swalestrom was kind enough to hide this away, for a future Dravania in need." He turned his head towards Sigrun. "As you know, he was the only Swalestrom Lord to care about Dravania. While most of the others followed the bell, your father chose the raven, though it seldom made a difference."

Lord Strandsor continued. "I admit there were days that I dreamed of sitting on the Dravain throne, while watching the Southards gnash their teeth in defeat." He put a paw on the banner. "That proved to be an ill-conceived plan with great risk, so I kept this hidden until now."

"Let me guess," sighed Sigrun. "You will be using this to garner the hearts of the common Dravain folk. Then, they will rally to your side and support whoever calls himself Dravain King."

Haakon Strandsor spoke almost immediately. "Well, you got most of it right, except for the garnering of hearts."

His father nodded. "We are too weak anywhere outside Sjovin, and the peasants may resist us. We cannot recruit anybeast to our cause for now. We won't be using the banner in quite some time."

Peering into the lady's eyes, Lord Gustav's own pair gleamed with amusement. "You will."

* * *

**THE SOUND**

"Thordan made it," stated Lord Alfyn Stalwart while starting out into the calm blue sea. "I was beginning to worry that he will not come at all."

Egil remembered him well. The hot-tempered giant otter shook him around a few times before accompanying him to rescue Thordan.

"Of course we made it!" Egil smiled as he answered. "Us Parmans have a penchant for dramatic entrances of the highest order." To be frank, he was a bit late when he and Alfyn freed Lord Thordan from that tower. The lordling himself never complained, which was good for everyone involved in his rescue.

"Oh. I've read all about Parmans in my books. They are beasts thoroughly given to adultery, fornication, defilement, and every foulness; nevertheless, they are vigorous and brave in battle and generous to friends." Lord Stalwart said absentmindedly.

"You just said that out loud," said Egil.

Alfyn was clearly flustered - a first for Egil to witness. "Sorry. I didn't mean to do that," he spoke with an embarrassed expression.

The weasel smiled. "Since when have you been so clumsy, Lord Stalwart?"

The otter's eyes narrowed. "You should at least try to entertain your betters with a set of manners, Eirik. Or what's it again?"

"Egil! I told you before!" The weasel exclaimed as his paws flailed around.

"If you did, I couldn't remember it," _That's it! He's tooling with me!_

"I did tell you! At Raevsvakt! When we rescued Thordan! Can't you recall even the smallest of details, Lord Stalwart?"

"Raevsvakt? I wasn't even at Raevsvakt!" Alfyn looked completely flustered by the whole thing.

"But-" Egil's words were cut off by the appearance of Thordan and… Alfyn? _Wait. This is getting out of paw! Now there are two of them!_

The Alfyn in front of him sighed. "Lord Lorcan Stalwart, at your service."

_That's it! Alfyn had a twin! It sounds so simple!_

"You seem confused, Egil," Thordan offhandedly remarked.

"You never told me they look the same!" Egil shouted at his friend. 'With all your rambling, I thought you should have mentioned it once or twice somewhere!"

Alfyn snarled at the weasel, causing him to leap backwards, almost knocking over Lorcan in the process. "How many times have I told you not to shout at beasts above your station?"

The other giant otter smiled. "Calm down, brother. You haven't quite introduced yourself, Einar."

"It's Egil!" hissed the weasel.

Thordan shook his head. "I thought you grew out of the habit of not remembering names, Lorcan. Can't you at least try?"

"Well, fatherhood didn't make him the slightest bit wiser," said Alfyn.

Lorcan rolled his eyes. "I do not think that wisdom is ever brought to any Stalwart after getting himself involved in fathering a child. Right, Alfyn?"

Alfyn's ears quickly swivelled. 'I don't know what you mean."

Lorcan exhibited a grin comparable to Egil's own, which was displayed at Bertil the hedgehog at the Raevsvakt tower. "Everyone in Triel knows of your little fling with Ikena. I even went to see your infant daughter when you went to Meraholmer. She's a cute one indeed."

"Wait, wait, wait," Thordan fumbled. "Alfyn, you're a father?"

Alfyn sighed. "Yes."

"That's… that's wonderful," stuttered Thordan.

Egil laughed. "Thordan here _obviously _meant that it would be even more wonderful if Lord Alfyn actually told us about his daughter."

"Speaking of which, you should have told us about the whole 'father' business," said Thordan as he recovered his composure.

"Yeah, yeah." Alfyn spat.

"Corrected by vermin… what will King Garmund say?" Lorcan Stalwart may have been a stoic beast, but even he could not resist taking a slight jab at his brother.

"Shut up!" exclaimed Alfyn as he leapt at Lorcan, who quickly turned tail and ran circles around the hapless weasel, with this brother in hot pursuit.

The brothers' little game was interrupted by a slight cough from Thordan. "Do any of us have any idea where to go next? Lord Becker has retreated, and Lord Sverker has not moved against us in any observable manner."

"Kaldos!" shouted Alfyn, exactly the same time when Egil declared for Doma, earning the weasel a hard stare from the Trielian.

"Why these two places?" Thordan asked.

Alfyn spoke first. "Well, we can't keep your brother waiting. After all, last time I checked, he's being holed up by your cousin Godred back in Hildrinn. Hildrinn can resist a long siege, but the sooner you can help him, the better."

"Well Sigurd can wait." Egil hastily said. "Sverker Crestworth is in desperate need of being taught a lesson, and he doesn't seem to have improved his defenses. Invading Doma would be as easy as flipping a paw in the opposite direction!"

"What about we regroup in Raevsvakt?" asked Lorcan. He was a beast given to compromises, so this little outburst was not surprising. "Meraholmer is directly between Kaldos and Doma, and we can act later according to the situation."

Without waiting for his friends' inevitable counter-arguments, Thordan Swalestrom smiled.

"Raevsvakt it is then!"

* * *

**KURBURG, KINGDOM OF OTHARN, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA**

As Lord Valdemar Crestworth walked into the Kurburg shrine, he suddenly remembered his tardiness. He had just received a report from his passive son, telling him that Meraholmer is not to be bothered with unless he obtained the Parman throne - a piece of advice he had seen fit to ignore. Requests like that are the reason why he favoured his second son instead. He had quickly sent the hedgehog on another mission - one which

His steady steps quickly became a brisk jog as he reached the gates of the Electoral Chamber. With luck, the beasts inside shall not take offence - though its was almost a guarantee that Lorelei Skyward would see even that as an insult.

The doorbeasts slowly pushed the twin doors apart. Expecting to see the session underway, Lord Valdemar prepared an entrance.

What he did _not_ expect, however, was the presence of a mere two nobles in the wide room.

The first, as usual, was Queen Lorelei of Garlesca. Valdemar sensed his eyes narrow and his ears fold. Their fathers were enemies, and after their deaths within days of each other, son and daughter continued the dance for the Parman throne. Rather curiously, she did not express her feelings today, if she had any - a far cry from her usual belligerent stance.

The other was his uncle, the Royal Vicar. Older than Lord Valdemar by less than five seasons, Niels Crestworth was not a strong beast in either body or mind, but those qualities made him such a prized asset to House Crestworth. He has made attempts to mediate between the two lutrine electoral houses before, with varied degrees of success.

"I see that only two electors have gathered today," sighed Lord Niels. _In all seriousness, where have the others gone? _

"We cannot possibly hold any session today, considering the lack of eligible voters," mused Queen Lorelei. _Your plans have to be delayed once more. Truly a pity. Or is that what you have planned all this time?_

Lord Valdemar spoke up next while glaring daggers at his rival. "I do wonder who is responsible for all this…"

"The answer, I fear, is standing right in front of you three."

Three otter heads turned to reveal a well-dressed mouse, with his burning green eyes dead set on the otterqueen.

"You!" exclaimed Lady Lorelei, no doubt angered by the sight by another of her father's old foes.

"Well, something had to be done," said Guido Aldabreschi, Lord Mayor of Brisca. " A few coins and threats did persuade your little electors to flee Kurburg for the safety of their own homes."

Another beast subsequently entered the room, a vole that was not tall even for his own kind.

"And we are here to do more." Lord Valdemar recognised both figures. Aside from the murine leader of the Valeran League, the voleking of Valnain also decided to poke his muzzle out from behind the curtain.

"Pardon my interruption, but mayhaps you two can explain your purpose here?" asked the Royal Vicar. He had every right to be confused - those two were merely old allies of his father, but even Valdemar was convinced that they had struck out on their own without consulting him.

King Guillame of Valnain let out a sneer. Unlike in Parma, where the King was chosen from seven, the Valnainers cycle the beast who sits on the throne, with which one species is replaced by another once the ruling king passes away. "We have come to ensure that no king is chosen."

"Only then shall our realms grow as strong as they should be." Guido Aldabreschi smiled as he turned to Lorelei. "Before your father came along, that is."

The queen let got a cold, mirthless laugh. "I suppose my father's death was the best thing that could happen to you two, could it?"

Guido winked at the lutrine trio. "We were not involved, if you wouldn't mind asking. As the saying goes, we let no crisis go to waste. We simply don't want any Otharn lording above us anymore, so it would do you well to delay electing anybeast."

"Preposterous!" cried out Lord Valdemar. _A kingdom with no king? Must be the oldest joke in the world! _"You'll be asking us to abolish the whole kingdom next!"

"If only that were possible…" sighed the mouselord. "For now, we will take our steps slowly and carefully. No one wants a civil war - not now, anyways."

The whole room was silent when the two figures left as smugly as they entered.

* * *

**REMSFORD, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD**

"Ta-da! Found ya!"

Lord Somerled Deilart quickly jumped up - only to find out he could not do so.

He was floating in some kind of void, with a few crystals of ice floating around. And it was cold. Freezing, in fact.

What was _truly _interesting was the veiled figure floating in front of him. A pine marten. Dark brown fur matched similarly coloured eyes, and his tail moved from side to side, as if he was constantly nervous. The stench that drifted into Lord Somerled's nose signified the creature was some form of vermin, so the squirrel hastily prepared a stance - only to find that there was nothing he could do as a floundering beast.

"Finding ya had been tedious to be sure, but the results shall be oh so worth everything."

"Show yourself, vermin! I am Lord Deilart, and you are under me!" the squirrelord fumed. 'Or else I shall-"

"Ya shall what? We are but little specks in an ocean of naught. There's nobody to help you here." The figure laughed. "You know, I wassn't expecting fer a Trielian Lord to be a seer, but clearly my expectations have ter raise every single time I meet with somebeast here."

Lord Somerled tried to swim away from the figure, but the vermin seemed to appear out of nothing and from nowhere. "You can't escape me. Not even if you climb up the highest mountain or scurry into the deepest cave. Thordan of Parma did try, but his Conjuration failed him. No Conjurer can stand against a Thaumaturge - you, for all your prissiness, cannot flee!"

"What do you want with me, vermin?"

The shade ignored the question. "Tell me. If greater beasts, both in aptitude and personality, could not stand against me, what chance do ya have? Yer as helpless and hapless as a toad crushed by a tree! Come! Come ter die!"

"No!" Somerled panicked. "No! This is but a dream! A dream! You cannot hurt me here!"

"Do you think yer _safe _from me in a dream?" The squirrelord felt something gather from the vermin's paw, then that _something _was released. Almost instantly, a pillar of fire was flung at the squirrel. Only quick reflexes allowed the squirrel to dodge, with the pillar only singeing his shoulder's fur.

Somerled woke suddenly, as if nothing had happened. Well, almost nothing anyway. A brief look indicated that his shoulder was burnt, the fur almost completely turned to ashes, and the scent of burnt skin hovered in the air.

"This is a dream," said Lord Somerled. "This is a dream. This is just a dream, and I will wake up every time I dream."

A voice in his mind, though, claimed otherwise.

_Will you? Will you indeed? Will you ever wake again?_

* * *

**A/N: FINALLY! This took quite a while.**

**Now we get to see the Raevsvakt three, one more instance of seer powers, Guido making his first appearance in ARR proper, and Sigrun. To be frank, I almost forgot her, so I'm glad she's finally getting some attention.**

**We also get to see who killed Old Thordan. If you have a feeling that this is going to be important, then you're probably right.**

**One more chapter left until Book II! Chapter 15 (**_**The Only Path) **_**will be out tomorrow!**


	17. The Only Path

**The Only Path**

* * *

**MACOLT, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD**

"Victory's ours, my Lord." Galen bowed his head in reverence. He had no idea why Garrion told him to take command - and he expected Garrion to have no idea as well. His behaviour had been erratic even before the tower fell on him, but a commoner commander was virtually unheard of.

"As I have expected. See? I was right to trust you." Garrion said as he grinned. "Where's the Trielian squirrel? His army's still mostly intact - you have much to learn in the ways of pursuing an enemy army."

"He ran away. The coward." Galen scoffed at the mention of the Trielian claimant. He couldn't even manage a little adventuring party of four, let alone an entire army. "Managed to take 'is force away too."

"This little occurence is probably because of the fact that you failed to pursue them," spat Lord Garrion as his eyes narrowed and his ears curled.

"M'lord, I had to make sure the beasts are taken care of first. I used to be one of them, you know." Galen said reassuringly as he and another bodyguard hooked Garrion's arm to the wheelchair built for the lordling.

Garrion sighed. "They would only live to fight the next battle and probably die. And the next. And the one after the next. Galen, this is war. We have to make sure that the enemy dies and stays dead. There is no other way to keep Southsward from falling - falling to a puppet king who burns children alive, falling to a young barbarian swamp-squirrel, or falling in the grasp of that Trielian warlord like we have done so before. It will not be."

"We still can't win without morale, Lord Garrion. A chance to see their loved ones, to enjoy the cool breeze of the sea, or to down a tankard in one go can motivate a soldier more than killing their enemies. They desire _life_, my lord, and I am bound by duty to let them keep theirs."

Lord Garrion turned his head.

"Do you have any sort of idea why I used you as a commander?"

Galen paused to think. "Because I saved you? From the rubble?"

"No. We may have built up quite a connection that day, but if my son was a blundering idiot, I wouldn't put him anywhere close to my troops." Seeing Galen's wondering expression, he quickly added, "The only reason I use you is that I like you. No more, no less. I like your way of doing things. With such focus, such enthusiasm, such drive, Southard is practically unstoppable."

"Milord, I don't think I have such abilities. Triel has much better generals, and-" Garrion raised his paw. "No need for excuses."

The Lord continued to speak. "I _do _like your candor. You, Galen Snowpath, are one of the only commanders who never tried to flatter me whatsoever." He smiled at his subordinate.

"Tell me. What do commoners lack most?"

Galen blinked once. Then twice. "They have to fill up their bellies, so gold is what they need. That's what I think, anyways."

The lord let out a long sigh, as if Galen's answer disappointed him. "When King Gideon asked my father the same question, he gave a much different answer. Come. Take a guess."

"I wouldn't dare guess, milord."

"One word," said Lord Garrion. "Ambition. Commoners lack the ambition to rise above their station. This is simply how the world works," He said with a solemn expression. "The weak perish while the strong survive. The poor starve while the rich feast. All the rules of life the ones in power have set in stone. But this is not the only path they could ever walk."

"If you were born an impoverished beast, and you bow to your fate, then you would lie in squalor until the day you die. Before that, you are but a tool in the paws of other beasts - a plaything of beasts in higher places. If you resist your fate, though, you can rely on none but yourself. Heroes of old are noble and common alike. If you continue your charismatic behaviour, build up your abilities, you can just wait. One day, what you desire would fall into your paws."

"So you're tellin' me to er… shape up?"

"Precisely. Not now though. We have a little celebration to undertake." The otterlord smiled. "Take a short rest before the coming storm."

* * *

**RAEVSVAKT, LORDSHIP OF MERAHOLMER, DRAVANIA**

During his tenure as Lord of Meraholmer, Thordan Swalestrom had never known if he had met the expectations of his many subjects. The isles that he had ruled had been long seen a division between woodlanders and vermin, and none who walked before Thordan even attempted to bridge the gap.

Seeing their Lord starting to align himself with the vermin, the woodlanders of Meraholmer quickly panicked. They may be fewer in number and proportion compared to the vermin, but they held most of the power the Isles between the sound can muster.

This desperation quickly brought about the attention of Canute Crestworth. With his fleet and a small force, he quickly sailed here and garnered the acceptance of the woodlander population, driving their lord into vermin paws. Before a civil war could take shape, however, Thordan surrendered himself into Crestworth custody, believing that to be in his lordship's best interests.

However, Thordan was not the only beast to misjudge the situation. Before long, Lord Canute had gave the impression that he wanted to bring the Isles under Doman control. This, coupled with the long rivalry between the two lordships, finally brought the woodlanders of Raevsvakt to a conclusion - a conclusion that they should have come to long ago.

Vermin or woodlander, rich or poor, they were still Islebeasts.

Before long, numerous attempts to rescue Thordan from Crestworth paws were made in quick succession by vermin and woodlander alike, some led by a certain weasel named Egil. To prevent Thordan from ever seizing his lordship every again, Lord Canute was prepared to transport the lordling to Doma when the Parmans suddenly invaded.

Aided by some high-ranking Trielian nobles, Thordan was quickly rescued from his prison and reconfirmed as Lord, quietly forgiving his old domestic enemies while promising to shy away from destabilising changes.

Which is why Thordan had doubts about his degree of public acceptance. They have lasted all the way since his rescue, and persisted until setting footpaw in Raevsvakt for the second time.

As opposed to his chilly reception when he first succeeded to the Lordship at his father's request (or command), he was warmly greeted here. Whatever doubts he carried were gone well and fully now.

"Is Raevsvakt always this crowded?" Lorcan Stalwart asked after the four had just entered the castle. Unlike Thordan and his two other friends, the Skipper has never sat footpaw out of Triel.

"Well, the last time I was in it, the whole thing was all too chaotic," Alfyn said similingly. "We would do well to revisit your little city when the world's at peace.

"Last time, not a lot of beasts wanted me around." Thordan's face remained solemn, though his eyes betrayed a shred of emotion. "I'm glad things have changed this time."

"You glad to see woodlanders getting together with vermin?" inquired Egil with one of his diabolical grins. "You _do_ need to show the twins it can be done."

Thordan nodded, though his expression didn't change."There's still much to be done."

"Why the frown?" asked Lorcan once more, no doubt glad to be rid of talk of the vermin-woodlander divide. "You weren't like this before."

Cold glares were quickly shot toward Lorcan, whose face revealed his obliviousness.

"Hate to break it to you,brother, but is grandfather just _died_," snapped Alfyn.

Lorcan sighed. "I'm sorry. I was insensitive again. Forgive me."

Thordan said nothing, though his gaze betrayed his intention of trying to speak.

"At least he still has his parents. They'll take care of him," Egil tried to twist the situation in a more positive light.

The otter twins quickly stared at the weasel, forcing him to quickly retract his words. Lord Bogdan Stalwart died before his two sons were even born, and his wife was quick to follow him to the grave.

"It's not just that." Thordan groaned. "Too much responsibility brought too much stress, and now I'm left to stew in it."

"You probably need a drink." Alfyn turned to see Egil day the same phrase at exactly the same time. Not surprising, considering their first meeting in Raevsvakt took place in a tavern.

Thordan looked up and sighed. To be completely honest, he still cannot pass the tower he was held before without a flight shudder, and there were times when he dreamt of being in that structure - dreams that he awoke in a cold sweat. Ropes cutting his wrists, being spoon-fed like a babe, Lord Crestworth's leering, taunting voice… all were remembered, etched in his mind.

"I don't really know. I still get nightmares about all that has transpired in the past few months. About being a captive, about Grandfather, about having to deal with a war that we cannot afford, about that mysterious otter-"

Lorcan broke the silence. "Hold on. What otter?"

"Looks like you have a _lot_ of explaining to do…" grumbled Egil.

"Do you really want to know?" Thordan asked.

Lorcan's 'no' was dwarfed out by two 'yes's from Thordan's other friends.

Thordan sighed again. _Can't catch a break._ "Well, it all started on that night in Doma, when a shadowy lutrine told me to leave Doma. Some 'win or lose, the path you walk leads to oblivion' stuff." He took a deep breath. "Then that same otter stuffed himself into my dream, tells me to find my father, and gets tossed away like a leaf in a storm. And finally my father tells me that you are fighting Skipper Becker, and I arrived."

"So your arrival was ordained by some higher power! I knew Vulpuz was on our side!" exclaimed Egil excitedly.

"Or Thordan's getting stressed out and seeing things. Right?" Alfyn said as he looked at his young friend.

But Thordan was not listening. Clutching his head in pain, he heard a voice. Not the otter - this voice seemed more mature and experienced.

"Now! Now I have you!"

Thordan screamed as his friends looked on worriedly. Egil moved away, Alfyn called for a few guards, while Lorcan just stood there, shocked by the whole thing. He did seem to have heard it somewhere before. But where?

"Let expanse contract, league become digit…"

Thordan's screeches began to weaken when the otter started to feel faint. He plummeted to the floor, and his vision slowly faded into a bright white. The last things he heard before losing consciousness was that blasted voice.

"Throw wide the gates that we may pass!"

* * *

**KURBURG, KINGDOM OF OTHARN, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA**

Lorelei studied her young charge as she took the tea tray away. Isangrim had talked about the grey-furred vixen numerous times, and overall she had left a good impression on her. _She's basically my Thordan, but even quieter. I've got to find a woodlander Bondbeast for her someday - to protect her of course._

"Now, for my meeting, you should scurry off somewhere else." _She could still eavesdrop on everything though… _"In fact, you may take the rest of the day off."

"Thank you, Your Highness." The vixen was a demure beast, Lorelei knew, but there's something about her that she didn't quite understand. Isangrim reported that she was a war orphan from the latest Parman-Valnainer war - born of Valnainer blood yet raised by Isangrim himself. Even so, the otterqueen wondered if she could be trusted.

As the foxmaid left the solar they were in, the otterqueen afforded herself a smile. Isangrim may have been in contact with the worst of beasts as Spymaster, yet he has exhibited an ability to find the best of them as well. Such is the power of a Thaumaturge.

Lorelei was not faring as well as her fox. Valnainers rebelling and the Valeran League convening as she breathed were not her only problems. However, rooting out that mole, finding her father's slayer, stopping Southsward from gaining independence, helping her husband keep his fiefs, and getting a bride for Thordan seemed distant compared to this. As the rebels' goal is to break down completely, she had a card up her sleeve. Not a _literal _card - that was her father's way of doing things - but one just as dangerous, and, in fact, stolen from the enemy.

Two figures glided into the room - an otter and a fox, both dressed in rich clothes and carried a noble air with them.

The first was recognizable instantly - not a lot of otters had a gaping scar across his face. Maurice of Graille, her husband's maternal cousin. Unlike his relatives, whom he shared an age, he was not particularly gregarious or shy - he knew when to open his muzzle, and when to close it shut.

It was the other beast that captured Lorelei's attention. Valnainers may have many issues of their own, but they see no difference between woodlander and vermin, though only woodlanders are included in the Royal Cycle, vermin are lords as well.

With an ever-present grin and a mouth that lied as naturally as it breathed, Renart of Maupert sauntered into a seat, while Maurice sat into one in a more dignified manner. The three stared at each other for a few moments, unsure of where to begin. As such, Lorelei took a few more opportunities to study the odd duo, though her thoughts were soon interrupted.

"You called us here for a reason, Your Highness." Lord Maurice opened the deadlock.

"Ah. Yes. Does King Guillame treat you two well?"

"You would have to stretch the definition of 'well' quite a bit, Your Highness," said Lord Renart. The fox had been well-liked by Lorelei's father - but only because he had found a kindred spirit in the fox. He had more… _complex _relationships with Lorelei, his fellow lords, and Isangrim most of all.

The fox continued to speak. "He's doing his best to fill up council seats with his own beasts, and he does his best to ignore our advice as well."

Lord Maurice nodded. "The only reason we haven't tried to depose him is that the country would quickly seep into chaos."

Lorelei convinced herself to frown. "That is unfortunate. I have much to apologise for, since my father actually invaded your lands. He must have been much worse than the king you have."

The otterlord shook his head. "You need not be so mired in guilt by your father's actions. The sins of the father have been absolved upon death, and you are free to start your reign anew, washed clean of misgivings." _He's taken the bait. Good._

Renart was more angry than worried. 'Your Highness should be looking towards the future, not dwell on the past! Why are you talking about all this?"

"You ask the right question, Lord Renart." A frown lapsed into a smile, though the otterqueen kept it to a bare minimum. "Just a week ago King Guillame was here."

Lord Renart was clearly shocked. "What? That frogface actually came here without telling any one of us? What did he say?" _Another fish on the hook. Now, to reel them in…_

"He's in league with Guido of Brisca, and he wants to keep Parma from having a king. They even wished that the kingdom be destroyed right up to our faces!"

"How? What is he planning?" Lord Maurice betrayed his own shock.

"I have suspicions that your king desires to make war on us." _Now, for one last step… _

"Could this be?" mused Maurice.

"This _does _sound like what our king would do," sighed Renart. "The last war almost doomed both of our realms, and the peace must be kept." _Brilliant. _"Now, what would you have us do?"

"To put it simply, you need to persuade your council to impede every single war effort. A tyrannical king cannot be allowed to make war on anyone he pleases, can't he?"

"I understand. We will do our best to stop King Guillame's royal charade." responded Lord Maurice, a paw clapped on our chest.

"Yeah, yeah. But may I ask you a question, Your Highness." The foxlord stood and smiled.

"What have I to gain?"

The otterqueen smiled. _Thank Great Seasons I was expecting that. _

"Everything."

* * *

**FLORET, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD**

Clutching a crystal, Arbert walked away from the Castle Archives. Unlike his more bookish brother, Arbert was a mole of action. He would do well to walk a different path - they only path he could manage to walk.

This path is what led him to the Chamber of Stars. Originally built by Egbert, the original Castle Archivist of Castle Floret appointed by King Gael II, this was sort of a private residence of the Archivists to come - when they were not in Duncton, of course.

The Chamber was wide, and a bit more illuminated than the Duncton manor, but this served a different purpose. Within the middle of the room, two swords were planted, stabbing though the wooden planks that were used as a base. Finnbarr and Fatch. Twin swords that were given back to Southsward after their little intervention up in Mossflower - they were a Redwaller gift.

Gripping one of the swords in one paw, and the crystal in the other, Arbert began to angle this world to the next, making them similar in properties. Gently allowing Conjuration to flow out of his body into the crystal, and then guiding it out, Arbert smiled as a little door appeared, cleaving the space in front of him in twain. Tapping in more and more, the door was large enough to allow for a grown beast to pass through - which the mole swiftly did.

He landed in a wide disk, circular in shape, and edges covered with gold on one side, and silver on the other. Inside, another was waiting for him.

"At last you have decided to appear, hmm?" The pine marten grinned as if he finished a particularly hard task (which Arbert knew was not true), as was prone for him to do.

The mole decided not to answer his question, instead countering it with one of his own. "Why is the lord not dead?"

"Er… he woke up right when I was nearly destroying him," the marten sighed in defeat. "He'll be harder to deal with than King Thordan or Erlend's wench."

"This would not have happened if you did not taunt him for minutes," said the mole coldly. "But you need not worry. My brother's working on another seer, and after that, he'll ensure that the Serpent and the Fox both fall in line. In the meantime, you continue on your little burglary - through mundane means, of course. We wouldn't want to catch the attention of the fox and his Conjurer queen."

A grin appeared on the mole's muzzle as the pine marten smiled, a ring on his paw, and gripped Thaumaturgy to punch through space itself, revealing a Parman inn, with a creaky bed and ruffled papers, a starry night sky, and a few hundred coins - rightfully stolen property. _Such is Slyte's way of doing things - Thaumaturgy and thievery. I should have left him at Greymorg if we didn't need seers so much._

But before the marten could close the door and leave, the mole ensured that Slyte heard what he had to say.

"No seer should be on the other side as we are. Leave Somerled to me."

* * *

**A REALM REBORN WILL CONTINUE IN **

**BOOK II: THE PATH OF THE RIGHTEOUS**

**COMING IN AUGUST**


	18. Sacred Bonds

**Sacred Bonds**

* * *

**ORIENCE, DUCHY OF DEILART, KINGDOM OF TRIEL**

After a long voyage, one would think to lay head to the nearest inn for a short rest. A bit of food and drink would also be welcome - or even a full-blown feast.

These things would have to be content with a second place within the mind of Erlend Swalestrom, as he had more important matters to discuss.

Admittedly, Orience was a good city to be in. Its climate reminded Erlend of Kaldos, his birthplace, half a world away, yet they are almost horizontally aligned to each other.

As Duke Somerled was away, his duchy was governed by his half-brother Domnall, who may be sick of body, but with his mind mostly spared, he was considered an acceptable replacement. However, the regent soon proved to be feeble-minded and occasionally incapable. He was a decent beast, with some displays of quick-wittedness. Like his own Thordan, he had also kept a journal with him, so his thoughts must have been quite coherent, even legible. With him being incapacitated by occasional bouts of seizures, he was sidelined by Somerled's daughter.

Lady Morag may have been a young teenager who is quite obsessed with physical pleasures, but she has the ability to win the hearts of her subjects slowly but surely. Judging by the fact that Lord Domnall has a low probability of marrying (and an even lower one of having children), Lady Morag walked closer to the Ducal throne by each passing season.

Being betrothed to a Boreller did nothing to dampen the spirits of the lady. She may come of age in one season, but she has been already seen having affections - no, not affections. Having _desires_ for any malebeast that crossed her path. Erlend was lucky to shake her off for a brief moment. Or two. He hoped for a few hundred more.

Right now, King Erlend had to contend himself with less personal issues.

The hedgehog, Bertil he was named, had a short message for him. "Your Majesty, Valdemar Crestworth, Lord of Doma offers his friendship, and would like to negotiate with you for the matter of the Parman throne."

Quite frankly, his candidature as future King of Otharn was surprising. The general rule was that a King was chosen from the Electors, and was crowned in Kurburg. Then, the king journeys to Ilsadia, and was crowned as her king as well. Finally, he (Lorelei may protest with varying degrees of success, but it's always a _he_) will arrive at the ruins of Old Parma, and was officially crowned as High King.

This, of course, had its problems. Numerous kings have seen antikings pop up from nowhere, though the requirement of four noble grandparents still stands as of now.

The second challenge lay in Ilsadia, which has long resisted the Parmans - for centuries, in fact. Erlend has fought them before on his father-in-law's behalf. They were tenacious foes in open battle, yes, but they could do nothing against theft, bargain and deceit. Only a war of attrition, alliances with other Parman foes, and a _very_ timely surprise attack saved them.

Of course, the Parman nobles can ignore you and see themselves independent, and kings in all but name. Thordan neglected Otharn for Ilsadia, and his successor will pay the price, whoever he might be. If he acts to take the throne, the throne will act upon him.

Erlend may have been a beast of many flaws, but overlooking them was not one. He would not make a good king. If he could not handle Garlesca alone, then ruling the much larger Parma stands no chance.

He toyed with the thought of selling his claims to Parma for a large sum of money - wars are expensive, after all. Or forcing Lord Crestworth to give up his claim over Meraholmer. That could have worked as well, if his wife would agree.

But it would be easier for an ant to move a mountain than for him to persuade his wife to drop her ideas. Her first husband's death was unexpected, to be sure, but Erlend should have waited before the situation was ripe before going for her. Both of them had been content with the match, but none of them were truly happy with it. The only long-lasting impacts were an alliance with the late King Thordan, and a chance to make a grab for the Parman throne.

He dismissed the hedgehog ambassador with a few vague promises, and waited for something to happen next. In the latest four months, nothing good seemed to have happened. Erlend hoped that he would be able to travel to King Garmund or King Somerled fast enough to join up with their armies, leading his Thavnairese units in tow.

Of course, things may not go to plan, but in the end they will triumph.

Another messenger entered the room, this one more nervous than the last. Wearing Dravain colours, the otter hesitated with every single step.

"Speak up." Erlend took a deep breath. _Whatever he's planning to say, it won't be pretty._

His belief was vindicated as the messenger said four simple words, and the sound of maddened screaming will be heard in every corner of the castle.

* * *

**FLORET, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD**

At this point of the war, the last things Lady Bellamy Swalestrom would have guessed it the horns of victory. Last time she checked, the Trielians have overrun most of the Southard defences. Fort Tiernan toppled, her brother Bedric killed, villages decimated - by the time the Trielians win, Somerled of Deilart will have been a 'glorious' king over a pile of ruins. Her mother said that Garmund had planned to do that, and she guessed that she was right.

Speaking of her mother, she was in a bad mood for the previous few weeks. It did not take long before Bellamy realised its origin - her brother was assassinated before he could name any heir, and the throne lies in the paws in a five-season old child. She might have nothing against the child, but either her cousin Anzeka or her Garlean husband must have been responsible for her uncle's death, as the only other likely candidate - King Thordan of Parma, was dead.

Garrion led the way of the victory procession, as was expected of a lord. He may be bandaged in many areas and had splints across his right arm and leg, but no wound that he had was expected to last. He was young and strong, after all, and father had plans for him.

It started when he was married in the most literal of manners. Her father managed to persuade Lord Lorents to give his daughter a larger than normal portion of land as the accustomed dowry. Seeing that House Rueford has been a valuable political ally in her father's struggle against the Dravanians, Lord Rueford has received favour upon favour, but this has served to push previously unaligned lords to Erlend's side due to simple jealousy.

"We should come to greet them!" Lady Ellisiv was clearly happy at her husband's return. Her marriage caused a small stir in the Southard court, as the bride's family was considered much inferior in rank compared to House Swalestrom. But of course, her father would accept this advantageous match - provided that Lord Lorents give away the aforementioned dowry. Bellamy spoke against the match privately, though she became fast friends with the young and very energetic Lady Rueford.

Floret's supply lines have been cut to shreds by the Trielians. Even without counting the Trielian main force advancing with a snail's pace, both the Otterguard and Sword have been hard-pressed against Lord Somerled's diversion.

Having been a maternal cousin to King Gideon meant that Somerled had quite a claim by himself, and the Deilart line was considered genealogically superior than the Southard Kings. The current kings managed were legitimate by the principle of proximity of blood, though primogeniture favoured the Deilarts. The previous Deilarn Dukes refused to press their claims due to Trielian pressure, though time and circumstances changed, and here Somerled was, calling himself a king at the head of an army.

This of course, was not the main point. Somerled was a beast given to ineptitude, and only his loyalty to Triel and previous experience at commanding an army allowed him to ascend. His weak and sickly brother could be a better puppet, but clearly Garmund of Triel had other ideas.

Despite the sufferings that have descended upon them, Floret's citizens were in a celebratory mood. Southsward square was packed with beasts of all sorts, and their victorious army can finally take a rest.

"I'm glad to see you two safe," said Garrion Swalestrom. He looked over their shoulders. "Where is Mother?"

"Mourning." Ellisiv said somberly. "Your brother is not the only casualty of this whole thing."

"King Winchell perished at the paws of a crossbow-wielding beast, and Corrado of Garlesca seized the throne. The younger Corrado, I mean."

"This is bad…" Garrion shook his head. "This is much, much worse than I first thought. We must stop them before they decide to get involved. It doesn't matter if Erlend or the elder Corrado leads the Garleans toward us. We're doomed either way."

A voice piped out from the back. "Unless if we brought the fight to them."

"I do not think you were supposed to speak now, Galen." Garrion sighed as he turned his head towards a tall otter at his side - clearly a bodyguard.

"Many apologies, my lord, but you were the one who told me to be more active." The other otter smiled. "And it is also not customary to disobey a lord."

Garrion smirked - which was not a major occurrence. Bellamy's older brother was usually a pensive scholar, who knew what to do but not what not to do.

"You have a point, Galen." Turning to his sister, he returned to his signature flat expression.

" I fear we have to call Godred back. He has a kingdom to win, and he should move with haste."

* * *

**SOMEWHERE**

Thordan woke up. Or did he?

It certainly did not seem like it. He seemed to be standing on another circle of glass, this time without the ornaments. Instead, the glass seemed to be coloured intricately. Red, green and blue circles hugged close to each other, together in an ocean of violet.

Thordan visited Kurburg Shrine when he was ten, and was amazed by all the stained glass windows. He can safely say that this figment of a dream surpassed everything the real world could make.

"You are here."

Thordan turned his head to see a mole clothed in white robes - emissary robes. He had met the mole before - at Floret, though the creature's name evaded him.

"You sound familiar. We have met in Southsward, have we not?"

"Yes. It is quite disappointing that you have forgotten me so soon, young Thordan. I am Dagbert, Castle Archivist of Floret."

"Oh." A few memories snapped into place, not all of them pleasant. "So you're the one who defeated me in chess five times in a row."

"Pardon me, but we have much, much more at stake."

"Just where are we?" Thordan wondered aloud. "You ought to have _some_ idea."

"I don't have a name for this place yet. Mayhaps you can be so generous as to provide one. Moving on." The mole smiled, as if he knew something Thordan was, which in every sense was true. "Had you ever heard of anything called Conjuration before?"

"No. What is it?"

"It's a concept hard for you to understand…" Dagbert seemed to smile. "A river of power, infinitely strong, and hard to grasp."

Thordan shook his head. "I understood none of that."

"Perfectly normal. There is a lot I can teach you." Dagbert reached out a paw.

"And lead him astray?"

Mole and otter turned towards the source of the voice. Standing in front of them was a black fox, with both ears folded in rage, and a face which seemed to be locked in a scowl - permanently so.

"You!" Dagbert exclaimed.

"If I remember correctly, yes, I _am _me." Isangrim never took his gaze off the mole. "Now what in the world are you doing in my charge's dreams?"

"I was planning on revealing on what you have hidden for so long, Darkening Cloud." The Archivist spat the last two words enough that the whole disk seemed to tremble and quake. "You cannot keep him locked out of the loop until the day he perishes - at your paws or otherwise."

"At _my _paws?" Thordan looked towards Isangrim, while remaining completely silent. "I swore to protect the kid, and you think I will kill him? You, who attacked his grandfather?"

Before Thordan can react, the mole snapped. "That was in self-defence! I had no choice! Besides, I took no part in his killing!"

Thordan gasped. Killing a king was sacrilege of the highest order, and who was responsible would be left in a world of pain if his mother ever got her paws on him. His vision was beginning to distort, like that time when Egil described drunkenness to him (which was, and still is an alien sensation to Thordan). This seemed much, much worse than having too much to drink though.

"Wait! Wait! Who killed hi-" Thordan felt his tongue growing heavy and his words slurring into unintelligible gibberish. Then everything faded away.

The last thing he heard was the panicked raging of a mole.

* * *

**GYSTRA, DRAVANIA**

Lord Becker Swalestrom was exhausted, starving and grumpy, but his situation could be a lot worse - he could have fallen under the arrows of the Trielians, or be led in chains to Arnet. But now was no time to worry. His army, his force, his Otterguard was intact, and will live to fight another day.

Now, he was talking with one of his subordinates in a firelit chamber. Lord Lorents Rueford was only younger than Becker by a single season, and was one of the few individuals who had more courage, if not drive, than his liege.

None of this was on Becker's mind. He had more personal matters to deal with.

When the phrase 'your son is dead' was uttered to Erlend, he broke down almost instantly and completely, breaking tables and chairs, and bemoaning the grip of fate had on him. Becker's reaction to this was to silently weep, hide his sorrow, reach for a bottle of Parman damson wine, and share it with his fellow lord, having undignified reactions all the way.

_Here's the first_

_Sing "hup fol-de-rol la la la la"_

_Here's the first_

_Sing "hup fol-de-rol la la"_

_He who doesn't drink the first_

_Shall never, ever quench his thirst_

_Here's the first_

An entire glass was swiftly placed between Becker's lips, while the dark red liquid whirled around within the lord's muzzle. Before he could sing another verse of that song, a figure suddenly appeared, Becker's guards flanking him.

"Huh? Who's this here?" Lord Rueford smiled drunkenly - Becker could not believe that he was drunk in less than forty-two seconds.

"An emissary," the guard sighed as he shook his head. "He came from Sjovin, and bears a message from Lord Gustav and Lady Sigrun."

Lord Becker groaned. It was not the alcohol - he was sure of that. It was more of the matter that Sigrun lost a brother to his plans. What she had to say will not be pretty.

"Pray tell. What does the young lady have to say?"

"I address you in a most direct manner, Lord Becker Swalestrom." The squirrel envoy talked in a very strange manner, but he seemed to be reading directly from a script. "Please listen, as if-" the squirrel's ears tensed, and his tail never stopped moving, twitching like some broken dowsing rod.

"Go on." Lord Becker nonchalantly replied, ignoring Rueford, who was seeping into the usual symptoms of inebriation.

"Please listen, as if you are an effective tactician and administrator, and not a drink-sodden piece of flotsam." Seeing Lord Becker's face, the poor squirrel started to rush his words.

"You are certainly not without accomplishments. Only the most distinguished of Skippers can boast of being unable to lead the Otterguard to defeat Greymorg without outside help."

Becker snarled. The squirrel trembled. Lord Lorents vomited.

"By participating in starting the whole war, you have brought upon the Southards battles, pestilence and unparalleled destruction. You are Southsward's siren, whose actions shall lead to shipwreck without doubt. But then-" The speaker silenced himself.

"Go on." Becker tried to keep himself calm. "Go ON!" He had failed.

"But then, like me, a lady of my realm, a female's role has suited you best from the exact moment you were born."

Lord Becker screamed, arching his arm back to throw the half-full bottle at the flinching squirrel. The bottle never made contact though. Remembering the rising prices of Parman goods - a side effect of the war - Lord Becker reverted to his stern glare, and he stood over the drooling body of his vassal. No words were spoken as he simply put the container down and pointed at the exit. It did not take long before the emissary took the hint, breaking into a panicked run soon after.

_It seems that I don't have to share now. Back to the bottle._

* * *

**A/N: Hello there, everyone. I am back! I hope you found Book I to your liking, and I hope that you like this one as well!**

**The next few chapters will be darker in tone compared to those in Book I, so keep your eyes shut if you don't want these things!**

**The Erlend part took me quite a long time, the expositions included, but I cannot think of any way to bring everything into dialogue. The other three segments are simpler to write, and to read as well, I hope.**

**Next, a brief shout-out to fellow members of the RRR - Sebias of Redwall, The Grey Coincidence, One-Eye the Wildcat, Socca Kingkiller and Keldor314! Without them, I could never have written this much! May your hearts be your guiding keys - and yours as well, Abrahem!**

**Finally, thank you, all of you, for providing ****more than ****1000 views and 50 reviews for ARR! I assure you that I am most grateful for your actions! As a little reward, you will be treated to actual replies of your own reviews -starting from next week!**

**Chapter 19 (**_**Beyond the Unknown) **_**will be ready on 14/15 August!**


	19. Beyond the Unknown

**Beyond the Unknown**

* * *

**STATION OF CALLING, THE RIFT**

"Drat. I've lost him."

Dagbert crossed his paws as he watched Thordan Swalestrom's figure begin to wane. He may not have expected that, but he _should_ have. Even without the fox's meddling, Thordan could wake at any moment.

Bringing him here took high amounts of Conjuration and an Amplifier, so Dagbert was not in his best form. If a confrontation was to follow, he would lose to the black-furred beast in front of him. The only way to survive is to play the emissary card.

"So you did, Conjurer." The fox smirked.''You Southards had a way with losing."

"What are _you_ doing here, Emmeroloth?" The Thaumaturge had many names - Isangrim, Pallpelt, the Darkening Cloud, but Dagbert decided to make an impression. And an impression he _did _make, for the fox visibly twitched, but returned to his overconfident self ere long.

"Me? Following the orders of the beast you had a paw in killing." Emmeroloth seemed to spit his anger out word by word. He leered calmly ,"You have a tendency to interfere even when it is all too unwise to do so."

Dagbert felt a fury rise within him. "We were only trying to do the right thing!"

The Thaumaturge rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Right. How right is it to murder every single seer that is allied with us?"

The Recorder sighed. "Listen. What we have done I hope we do not do again. But we have no other choice - we cannot let you-"

Emmeroloth revealed a sharp scowl. "And that's why you have been trying to tempt Thordan to align with you?" Both woodlander and vermin stayed silent for a few tense seconds before the fox decided on changing the subject.

"You know, pretending to be an otter was a neat trick. The Veil was perfect. Masking yourself to look like the boy's grandfather was incredibly ingenious of you. A pity you got the look wrong, and the accent as well."

"How - how did you know?" The mole was clearly shaken.

"Well, I was speaking with the _actual _otter while you were doing ridiculous impressions of him. To be honest, you were too polite to imitate him completely, Conjurer. Trust me, you still have a long, long way to go in your acting career." The Thaumaturge sighed. "You see, it's quite fun talking to the only beast with any shred of conscience on your side."

What Emmeroloth said was not quite true. Aside from the Emissary, the Warrior and the Assassin, there was still the Architect, one more addition to their little union - one whose potential as a seer is as low as one can have, but a fearsome warrior nonetheless. "It's much less pleasurable talking with the only beast without morality on yours."

The fox sighed again. "I fear we would have a long way to go before we can achieve any sort of compromise. At least you do."

"We could talk only if you could divulge more than a little shred of your plans." Dagbert kept his eyes trained on the fox as he spoke. "You have already Sundered one Shard! What will you do next? What _can_ you do next?"

Emmeroloth sighed for the third and final time. "What I do, I do for the salvation of this star." It only took a single impact through the Rift before the Thaumaturge stepped through the Gate of his own making, turning back from the scholar mole and stepping into the world that he considered to be real.

Dagbert just stood there, without making a single noise. He had failed in his mission, and his colleagues would not be happy.

Emmeroloth may be his foe, but the black fox had told the truth, as all seers are obligated to do. He had a long, long way to go indeed.

* * *

**KALDOS, LORDSHIP OF KALDOS, DRAVANIA**

After all that followed around her - all that tragedy that had descended upon her - Sigrun was finally home. Growing up with her brother and mother, Sigrun always had an affinity with the city.

After Hildrinn, Kaldos was the largest city in Dravania. Despite being cleaved neatly into twain by a narrow strait, barges frequented the harbours between. Kaldos proper was situated on an island, with the urban centre and main fortification atop. The other side, Koerthas as it was called, was being rapidly developed by the efforts of Sigrun's father, which caused some minor conflicts of interests with the Kaldosians along the way. Beyond that lay hills and mountains, protecting the city, but preventing it from developing further.

Walking behind Sigrun were the Strandsors, father and son. They were quite an odd pair, the father being wild and passionate while the son being calm and composed. It took less than three glances to see that they were trying to manipulate her into doing their bidding - they have made everything obvious. At least they have not seized control of herself yet - Father would rage for a few more days if they had tried to marry her to anyone.

Gustav Strandsor carried the Wolf Banner for her - the commonfolk cannot expect a lady to do everything herself, can they? Though its purpose seemed to have been fulfilled - beasts flocked to see her and her (nominal) subordinates carry a pennant never seen in a hundred seasons, which must be for a big reason.

And a big reason it was! The procession finally reached the main square of the city, and the main three figures ascended onto a platform specifically designed for the occasion alongside their bodyguards.

"Beasts of Kaldos, listen!" Gustav Strandsor shouted at the crowd. "Dravain legend tells of this banner, and this banner's own tale!" The beasts quickly silenced themselves, as the tale was known to all.

"In the past, Dravania was its own kingdom with its own king, but this was not to last. For fifty and two hundred seasons, they fought against Southsward." Pointing at the banner, he continued, louder than ever before. "For where this banner went, Dravain beasts followed. Where this banner went, we were a thorn in the squirrelking's tail. Not even with the might of both Southsward and Parma were we beaten."

A cheer arose from the crowd, only to silence itself moments later. They knew what happened next - every Dravanian knew.

"Finally, while the kingdom was being rent apart from within, Southsward pounced upon us for the last time. A small force was able to occupy a strategic location, but they were few in number." Lord Gustav decided to break out the dramatic paw gestures. "Ravens filled the air, calls of death following in their wake. Thousands of Southards thundered towards Hildrinn, their fires outnumbering the stars, and they carried the banner of King Riddian the Third - the King Riddian who was one of the best tacticians of all time!"

The older lord raised his paw up into the sky, as if he was a chorus in some ancient play. "We were supposed to not last a single hour, to be swept along the winds. But we fought! In a trickle, beasts did not flee, but fought to keep their homes and loved ones free from Floret's paws. That one trickle soon turned to many, and a flood of beasts exited the safety of their homes, and arrived at the field of battle. Farmers carried pitchforks, woodsbeasts carried axes, and nothing more but a few days of food. Everyone knew that they might not return - some even knew that they _will _not return! But the land had been theirs, and they would not parcel even a fistful of soil!"

Standsor shed a tear next, his paw falling. Then another tear trickled down. "The dead piled up in mounds, but our loyalty to the land was matched bit by bit by Southard fidelity to their king. Slowly but surely, we perished one by one." He paused to wipe off a few stray tears lingering on his face. "But not all of them died. The survivors, few they might be, lived and sired children. Seasons came and seasons went, till Dravania was but a distant dream. Weep for it! Weep for what is lost to you!"

Sigrun must have been hallucinating, for she saw the most forced of grins appear on the lord's face. "But there is hope left to us, in the form of a king! A King of Dravania to give our lives meaning! A King of Dravania to save us all!" Lord Gustav's smile became less forced by the second. "He is coming! He is coming! Seasons help us! Seasons help the world!"

The lady's thoughts were soon drowned out by the endless shouts of the crowd below.

* * *

**RAEVSVAKT, DRAVANIA**

"You're awake!"

Thordan Swalestrom has never been an otter with a strong constitution, but suddenly fainting in the midst of a conversation was a sign that something was very wrong. Lorcan may have been the only beast to keep a cool head outwardly, but inside he was spinning like a top. He managed to carry him to a bed, and summoned a few servants and a healer to attend to his needs, which, truth be told, are not much.

Thordan groaned as if he was shaken awake from a deep slumber, which he was. "Lorcan. How long was I out? Where am I? Where are the others gone?"

"Calm down, Thordan. You're very safe, and so are the others." Lorcan has a way of comforting those he cared about, though suddenly losing consciousness may spell disaster to his friend. Holding a cup of water, he beckoned Thordan to drink, which he swiftly did.

"You were turning and twisting a lot in your state." Lorcan tried and failed to suppress a giggle. "Were you dreaming of some pretty lass?"

"What?" Thordan's ears folded, an obvious reaction to the taller beast's teasing. "No. No such thing. It was simply..." Thordan paused, scratching his head. "I don't remember much. Two beasts were in it, one vermin and one woodlander. They said a lot of things. They argued and I woke up."

"Well, dreams could be important." Lorcan smiled as he finally sat down in an armchair. "You saw that otter before you helped us drive Skipper Becker back. Maybe someone's prodding you towards victory - like in the books! The hero gets advice from the ghost of a past hero, and he triumphs against all that he will face. Like Joseph the Bellmaker!"

Thordan shook his head slowly. "I don't feel like a hero at all. I'm just some lord who tries his best to fight for my father. Oh, and to survive as well."

"Well, they do say that all heroes have their own journeys to make. I do wonder why and how…" Lorcan shook his head. "If there is some sort of law or formula regarding the making of a hero, it lies beyond the unknown."

A tense silence followed, with both beasts hesitant to speak. Lorcan has never been a beast of many words, but Thordan made him look like a chatterbox.

A cough from Thordan signified an end to the silence. "So… where are Alfyn and Egil?"

Lorcan smiled. "Well, the healers said that you were fine physically, so they went off into the city to… er, enjoy themselves." He turned towards Thordan. "I trust that your weasel friend is also unmarried, is he not?"

"Y-Yes." Thordan sighed. "Why did you ask that of all things anyway?"

_Thordan, you innocent little child… _"Nothing. I'm just wondering what fun they could have right now…" Lorcan stared right into his friend's eye. "Speaking of marriage, has your father made any betrothal for you? He cannot hope to fight this war alone - he's married as well as your brother."

"I haven't thought about that yet…" Thordan leaped back into his usual musings. "I'm too closely related to every eligible ottermaid of any sort of importance. The only suitable choices are all taken."

"Your half-sister hasn't been promised to anyone yet as well." Lorcan winked.

Thordan's ears folded. "Father has many plans."

Another tense silence followed, this time lord than the last. This one was finally broken with a little revelation by the younger lord.

"I remember now! Dagbert the Floret Archivist! He and Isangrim!"

Lorcan raised a claw at his worried friend, no more smiles present. "Who's Isangrim?"

"The spymaster fox! From my grandfather's court! He said that my grandfather was killed - and we don't know who did it!"

* * *

**BLESWYN, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD**

"How did they slip through your claws?"

The two guards who defended the east door may have been just starting on the way to recovery, but Lord Denebas Burelas was planning to move in haste. Having just received a report that Captain Waycaster has escaped, alongside with one of his subordinates, the young lord had to fulfill his duties as commander with relish.

"We were tricked!" The hareguard shrieked. "Lied to! Deceived!"

"And on no other beast's watch but yours!" Borellers are not known for their calmness, though the younger Boreller duke was an exception. However, being _also_ sticklers for honour, it did not take long for Denebas to be pushed past his breaking point.

The grey-furred squirrel took a deep breath, finally taking the cup of tea that had been prepared for him. "I say that you two did not try your best."

Denebas put his mouth to the cup and prepared for the serene taste of unsweetened tea - only to burn his tongue. Perhaps not coincidentally, he felt his anger return.

"Please, we were just-" The mouseguard attempted to beg.

"You two apparently do not know this one thing about Borellers." Denebas stood completely still, allowing his anger to melt. "The more you plead to one, the less inclined they are to listen."

Before the unfortunate duo can respond, Denebas continued to speak. "You two _will_ make up for your mistakes. You will tell me which direction the two have went, and you two will accompany my unit to hunt them down, and bring both the traitors back into Trielian custody! Their location might be unknown, but it is our duty to go beyond."

He turned coldly towards them, eyes revealing a savage glare - his brother's glare. "Do you two understand fully and completely?"

"We do! We do!"

'Good." The squirrellord finally let his gaze avert from the pair of former guardsbeasts. "Now, you two will stand here and do nothing at all while I inform my king and my brother."

* * *

**VARGO, LORDSHIP OF VARGO, KINGDOM OF OTHARN, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA**

A warm spring may have followed a mild winter, but Niels Crestworth was basically shivering in public view.

Of all the things Queen Lorelei could imagine to repay his favour from the Second Electoral Council, she had asked for a private dinner meeting. Not alone, of course, but with two other Valnainer lords - one of them a fox, even.

Of course, Lady Lorelei had a poor reputation prior. She was not particularly attractive, which had led to many mockeries and nicknames. Mouthpoke, Pocket-mouth, Satchel-mouth, the Big Mouth, the Mouth Bag, the Pocket-Mouthed, the She-Wolf of Vargol, the Ugly Duchess, and With the Pouch Mouth were all suffixes used for her, and for her alone. She, for one, bore all this with pride and dignity, though not exactly a lot of beasts would try to mock her in earshot.

"Lord Maurice needs more wine, Hersent." The queen gestured at her personal servant, a grey fox with fur the colour of ashes. As far as Niels knew, she was just some vermin randomly inducted into the court by Lorelei, though the Royal Vicar knew that this must have been a Skyward trait. Her father had vermin courtiers more numerous than woodlanders, and he scandalously preferred vermin females to either one of his wives. Perhaps this was due to his chaotic upbringing, or some other fact that Niels was blind to for now.

Ignoring a lustful look from Lord Renart of Maupert, the grey vixen soon left the room after fulfilling her duty, having no intent to linger there. The foxlord was known far and wide for having needs for physical pleasure that made Thordan look like a celibate. Sly, amoral, cowardly and wholly-self serving, Renart would not have amounted to anything in normal circumstances, but these vices allowed him to thrive in the Valnainer court. The common folk do say that Maupert was one of the best hiding spots for this errant lord - which was desperately needed due to his tense relationship with his soon-to-be-former liege.

Niels preferred the other Valnainer, Lord Maurice of Graille. After all, he had married his only full sibling, and they loved each other so much for the birth of two children, with a third following them by the end of the season. Plump and portly for an otter, he preferred the kitchen to the court, as cooks scheme significantly less than lords. However, even the slightest mention of the voleking seemed to spur the otter into action.

"You Otharnese serve good food," the otterlord smiled as he sipped from his goblet. "But we know that you do not randomly invite your guests to such gatherings without them having something to offer."

"Your intuition is good indeed, Lord Maurice. We have matters of a more serious nature to discuss than pies and wine." Lorelei grinned at Niels openly - a sign that she wanted something very badly. After all, they knew each other since childhood, but she was noteworthily cold towards him for the last forty seasons.

"What are your thoughts on allowing Lord Renart to replace his treasonous liege?"

* * *

**A/N: Another chapter with 5 points of view! Grey would like this… **

**Back on track. First, my first responses to reviews! And thanks to everyone for taking them to 70!**

**Sebias of Redwall: We're out of wine? That's a statement Becker would make. And as for the seer confrontation between Dagbert and Isangrim? It doesn't happen... for now. **

**The Grey Coinicidence: I'm glad you liked Sigrun's letter. That was a really fun part to write. And the contrast between the elder Swalestrom brothers was intended, but Erlend would not be likely to throw tables or stuff. Thordan knowing more may (or may not) equal him _doing _more, of course.**

**Now, all roads are open, and I can assure you that more magic will be shown in Book II than in Book I!**

**Chapter 20 (**_**Flight**_**) will be up on 21/22 August!**


	20. Flight

**Flight**

* * *

**VARGO, LORDSHIP OF VARGO, KINGDOM OF OTHARN, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA**

"What are your thoughts on allowing Lord Renart to replace his treasonous liege?"

Queen Lorelei was never a beast to beat around the bush, but this was the most sublime way to discuss an open usurpation - even for a beast such as Renart of Maupert.

Everyone knew that King Guillame was trying to break free from Parman control, despite Valnain being subordinate to another kingdom for even longer than Southsward. While he was slightly (with emphasis on the slightness) more capable of diplomacy than King Gideon (who has set nary a step past the gates of Floret), he was no King the Valnainers need.

A series of loose-pawed Parman kings had allowed Valnain to flourish, but King Guillame had to ruin everything by suddenly declaring war on Thordan of Parma, no doubt with the encouragement of Thordan's other enemies, chief of them Lord Canute of Doma.

The Doman otterlord's ability to produce coherent speech suddenly faltered, and he was only able to sputter out a few confused syllables. Despite him being an accomplished scholar and healer, and arguably the most powerful person on _the entire blasted planet_, he has absolutely no idea how to talk with any female. Renart would have to remedy that someday after he has got his crown. Perhaps a venture or two to a few courtesans would help.

"Er… yes. King Guillame has clearly overstepped his boundaries, but I would rather give the throne to somebeast trustworthy if it were left to me." He wiped a few drops of sweat off his muzzle. "Lord Maurice, if you get some sort of opportunity to obtain the Valnainer crown, what is it that you would do?"

"I would much rather ignore the opportunity, your lordship." Maurice was ever a humble beast, cautious and prudent, but also moved imaginary obstacles into his view. He and Renart were 'like night and day', some said, but Renart would think that 'like fox and otter' would be more suitable for them. After all, he was the only woodlander he could rely on - even though he would not do so on a whim.

The Royal Vicar sighed. "Well, you have a _long _history of not being trustworthy, Lord Renart."

The fox rose from his seat. "Well, what are you going to do about that? Sic your shadow fox on me? I have already outplayed him twice before, and I would not mind a third." Isangrim was a good spymaster, able to appear everywhere he wanted, but he is just a normal fox with normal abilities. He is basically almost as overrated as sliced bread.

His words extracted no reaction from Maurice, a surprised and innocuous glare from Lord Niels, and a venomous stare from Lady Lorelei. The last one was able to make him sit down again. In his first visit to King Thordan's court, he made the mistake of trying his usual flirting tactics on her like any noble maid. Well, a few bruises later, he began to understand that she was no innocent damsel at all.

"Well, I can _guarantee _your loyalty, young lord." At the not-so-tender age of six and thirty seasons, Renart may have been the youngest lord in the room, but he had the most experience in plotting and intrigue. Now, he was going to make all his investments worth it all.

"How so?"

"By allowing your wife, the Lady and future Queen Hermeline to spend the duration of the entire campaign as a guest in Vargo."

_Now this was an offer I would take. Not having to surrender Percehaie, Malebranche and Rouvel would be expedient, and they would not mind leaving their mother behind for a campaign. But there is always something more to a Parman offer…_

As if on cue, it was Lady Lorelei's turn to speak next - though without permission. But who cared? She could beat all three of them bloody, and order the deaths of all of their families, friends and everyone they knew, the destruction of their lordships, and having all trace of them wiped from history with the same tone one might expect to pick a specific kind of tea for lunch.

Besides, Renart needed her.

'We would like a light Parman garrison to be stationed in Maupert as well." The otterqueen said without batting an eye. "We cannot trust you just yet."

_A garrison? In Maupert? That is some high-pawed trick. I cannot run from the Parmans if, and only if, I was forced to betray them. But then… there's the crown._

Truth be told, there was like some little voice in his head telling him to accept this offer, to allow this small setback for a gamble for the Valnainer crown. But at what cost? The voice seemed to speak louder and louder moment by moment - to the point where his mind was almost shut out fully and completely.

"No. Not now." Had he not drunk that night, he would have savoured the shocked look on Lorelei's face more. "Thank you for your hospitality, and for what sacrifices you plan to make for me. But I can win my crown for myself and by myself." The voices stopped.

Gesturing to Lord Maurice, the lord stepped out the door, with his personal items packed up for them by attentive Parman servants. They would leave fast. They would have to create their own army, and topple a king who cares not about their subjects, without counting on foreign help.

Had they stayed for a moment longer, they would have heard Lorelei Skyward sigh. Not one of resignation, but one of utmost relief.

* * *

**RAEVSVAKT, LORDSHIP OF MERAHOLMER, DRAVANIA**

"Your brother actually said that?"

Going back to a fully armed castle with a vermin in tow was awkward enough for Alfyn Stalwart, but he just _had _to reveal some things that should not be heard. Sharing gossip with him was indeed a bad idea.

"Yes, Egil." The otter did not know when he stopped referring to the weasel as simply 'vermin', but Egil did make a fine drinking and cavorting partner. Well, he _did _help rescue Thordan, so he deserves some reward. "Lorcan did indeed sing praises about his wife's ears. Really!"

"Couldn't he had chosen something else? His wife is one of the most beautiful ottermaids living, and he compliments her _ears_?"

"Correct." Alfyn could now see why Thordan Swalestrom was friends with the weasel. He was a playful beast, and always remained merry in the face of adversity. Alfyn was all the more amazed when he didn't speak as crudely as the vermin he saw at home - to the credit of his banker father.

"Well, I think we could agree that a lovely maid has more pleasing attributes than ears." Egil joked. "We know that by experience - trial and error, mayhaps?" Both beasts laughed as they passed through the castle gates, only to see another tall otter.

Lorcan Stalwart turned to face them, a solemn countenance etched on his face - one that had its roots in Thordan Swalestrom.

"Lord Sigurd is dead." Lorcan shook his head. "Godred Swalestrom has taken Hildrinn."

Egil swore while Alfyn stopped himself from doing the same. Alfyn has lost a brother-in-law the same moment his friend has lost a brother.

But there was more to come from Lorcan. "Gustav Strandsor wants Thordan in Kaldos. The Kingdom of the Dravanians has risen from the ashes, he said, and is now a realm reborn."

Lorcan had been the better scholar amongst the twins, but Alfyn knew what he considered to be the essential parts of Dravain history. Once a kingdom, the Southards, under their greatest king ever to live, had seen fit to conquer it in its entirety without taking the royal mantle, instead seeing fit to place it from a capable yet obedient scion of the Dravain ruling dynasty, who was very conveniently married to the Skipper of Floret's heiress. Three generations passed, each one having been more focused on Southsward than the last, until two Swalestroms lay dead on the field of battle, and brother fought against brother still.

Egil was the first to speak, as always. "So Lord Gustav's crowning Thordan?"

"It is too early to tell," mused Lorcan while pacing around the castle courtyard. "But this is very likely to be the case. Unless Erlend returns to Dravania."

The Skipper of Arnet shook his head. "I fear I could not accompany him across the Sound to Kaldos. King Garmund ordered me to target Doma in the meantime - we cannot risk anybeast stabbing us in the back -metaphorically or literally."

"Well your king does like meddling with plans, doesn't he?" Egil crossed his paws. "And where is Thordan anyway?"

"Packing." Lorcan shook his head. "He wanted to mourn, but he has to get to Kaldos before either Godred or his father surrounds the city."

His voice suddenly softened, as if a wind of doubt blew in his heart. "Can you protect him? You and the weasel?"

Alfyn found himself compelled to speak. "I will."

Egil followed suit. "I swear that I will never betray Thordan, and ward him from all harm."

"Very well." Alfyn's twin was trying to hold back tears now. "You two, do your duty. Fly towards Kaldos, and stay with him to the end. I can spare half of my troops for your use, brother. Use them well."

As Alfyn watched his brother finally break down in tears, he finally knew what it is to be ready for every single thing.

* * *

**FLORET, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD**

When Galen and him met for the first time after their first departure on the battlefield, Dirk was kindly asked to introduce himself to the leader of Sword himself, saying that the battle-hardened squirrel would have need of promising soldiers - and leaders in particular.

The squirrel's quarters were simply, being comprised of nothing more than a table, a few chairs and a bed between four wooden walls - just like a common soldier's barracks, with the sole distinction of being cleaner by a more-than-slight margin.

Dirk may had never complained about having the boring jobs, but even he had to be surprised when he saw the old squirrel in front of him. General Ralos was no living legend, but Dirk expected something more impressive than a decrepit old thing. But he was anything but feeble - a massive scythe on his wall should serve as a testament to his abilities.

It took little delay before the General himself showed his face. Scar after scar coursed through his face like rivers through the land, with one in particular arising from his right forehead and flowing down to his left chin. A soldier's wounds - wounds that Dirk was no stranger to.

But there was something more about all that. Like the squirrel knew something he did not.

"Ah, Dirk, was it?" Ralos smiled as he reached out his paw, which the otter promptly took. "I had heard about you before. You performed well at Macolt." The grey squirrel seemed to tremble with every step taken, due to him greying with age, instead of having natural grey fur like his Boreller cousins.

He continued, this time speaking even faster. "Forgive me. General Ralos Farin, at your service." Unlike otters, who had their last names easily read, and mice, who had theirs taken almost from random, the last name of a squirrel always corresponds to their birthplace, or, as time went on, that of a male ancestor. The squirrel, seemed to be born in some fortress-town near the Dravain border - a highly obscure place to look for a general.

General Ralos was a tactician of average caliber, and not a particularly good strategist, but he was absolutely unparalleled in the calculations of logistics. As the saying goes, an army fought on its stomach, and Farin knew this as well as any one of his subordinates would.

"Captain Dirk Tillwaters." Dirk had never took a liking to lords, (and Garrion Swalestrom in particular), but this one had the most peasant blood he had ever met. Though a descendent of Southard kings himself, Ralos was but a minor lordling in a wide world - enough for a relatively even conversation.

"So Lord Garrion sent you here." The squirrel never smiled, but a frown was not present either. "Or was that his father?"

"It was Lord Garrion, sir." Of all the beasts that could be counted as his superiors, this was the one who said the least and showed the least emotions. Dirk quickly decided that he liked him.

"And you led a flank at Macolt?"

"Yes." Honestly, it was mostly Galen's planning that led to the false squirrelking being routed, but a few improvisations from Dirk helped as well.

"Southsward needs more good captains like you." Ralos mumbled. "I'm getting older and older by the second, and Southsward needs me more and more."

"It is simply my duty to assist you."

"Very well." It took long enough for the squirrel to smile. "Do you know how to read?"

A few clouded memories of a time long ago crawled into Dirk's head like a snail, in which a mother dragged a son to a quill. "I can read well enough."

"Very well." Ralos sat down, and Dirk followed suit after a gesture from the squirrel. "We need to study what little knowledge our ancestors were able to pass down to us - especially about the sieges. They may not be glamorous, but sieges are how wars are won."

"Correct. A third voice made its way into the room, with a mole gliding in. Unlike the dirty uniform worn by Dirk or the cleaner one worn by his superior, the mole was clearly not prepared for combat of any sort, with his squeaky-clean long white robes.

"Dirk, was it? Dagbert, Castle Archivist of Floret. It is a pleasure to meet you."

The two shook paws.

* * *

**BLESWYN, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD**

"So you are going to hunt after a single captain who has no connection to any important figure, has authority over one beast, and can talk his way out of almost everything?"

Altayras Burelas had few moments in which he was not as hardened as the steel he carried, but with his eyes the size of oranges, staring at his crimson-clad brother in front of him (red hat included), this had to be one of them.

"He escaped abruptly, with some information he might have brought with him! We cannot allow him to run free!" Denebas fumed as he paced around the room the brothers were in. Of the Borellers, Altayras was usually the strong and silent one, while Denebas was less strong, though just as silent. However, Captain Bodvar Waycaster's escape seemed to shake Denebas more than his older sibling - mainly because the otter captain was his responsibility.

Borellers placed too much emphasis on honour, even for Trielians. The escape was a life-changing experience for Bodvar, but a normal warleader would just write this incident off as a mere footnote. But not Denebas.

The two brothers remained silent, both hesitant to speak the first word. Until Denebas broke the silence, of course.

"King Garmund has already given his permission. He would not like me to take too many beasts with him, so I will take about six"

Altayras sighed. "This is probably one of the few cases in which your mind cannot be changed, I take it?" Seeing his brother nod, the elder squirrel sighed.

"I ask one thing of you only, brother." The squirrel clad in jet-black armour stepped forward. "Do not throw away your life when there is no need to. Understand?"

"I understand, brother. I swear, with you as my liege, that I would never risk my life without permission, or attempt anything foolish that ends in my death."

"Thank you, Denebas. May your heart and mind guide you forth on your journey, and may your fortunes fly high."

No squirrel needed to hold in their tears - there were none shed, and none held.

* * *

**BRISCA, FREE CITY OF BRISCA, VALERAN LEAGUE OF INDEPENDENT CITIES**

Guido Aldabreschi had a plan. Guido of Brisca always had a plan.

The Ilsabarn mouse watched impassively as his guests took their seats. The Voleking of Valnain took the one closest to him. He carried himself proudly - too proudly perhaps. The vole in front of him took pride in everything, and observers reported that he was arrogant and overbearing. It took _something _to goad Renart of Maupert, a noted coward, into open revolt.

His royal (or rather, loyal, considering the ones who went rogue) vassals were back at home, attempting to ensure that everything worked while the king was away, conveniently ingnoring the fact that things actually worked _better_ without him.

The other visitor never even once captured his attention. The otter was not as strong has his father had been, but strength had led Aldernan nowhere. His father being a guiless skeleton did not help matters. Raimon of Aldernan may have been the ninth of his name to reign over his Southwestern plains of the Parman Realm, but his power has been undercut from the beginning by his overlords. To be honest, Guido was not expecting any other nation to act so aggresively.

The leader of Aldernan bore the title of Captal, which Guido guessed was something similar to 'head', but more Aldernese. Valnainese, Aldernese, Garlean may have shared many similarities with Guido's native Ilsabarnese, being all descended from Oldspeak, but they have drifted away from each other centuries before.

"We are here to discuss our attempt to achieve independence from the High Kingdom of Parma." Guido of Brisca was never an eloquent beast, so he decided to introduce his points all too directly.

"And how might we do so?" The Captal's paws formed a steeple as he spoke. "Parma is ready." Pointing at Guido, he continued. "The last time all of our nations were in an Anti-Parman Alliance, yours was the only one to come out unscathed."

Quite surprisingly, King Guillame nodded in agreement. Nobles were all the same - an engima to the Free Cities, but not to Guido. "King Thordan's mercy saved us at the last moment, but merciful is a word no one would ever use to describe his daughter. If anyone related to her takes the throne, we are all doomed. We cannot postpone the election for long."

Guido nodded and smiled. Corrado Truetide was a noted battle commander, and has control over the Jayso Isles through his son. Erlend Swalestrom was a beast too focused on Trielian and Southard matters - he may have nearly been elected, but the chances of him actually accepting would be slim. Thordan Swalestrom may have been weak of will and has the capacity of starting some sort of negotiations, but this is unlikely, to say the least, with his mother whispering in his ear.

"And this is why I have a proposal to make, even after actions were done to make this proposal a reality. I apologise to you for sending the invitation before informing you two, but what are your thoughts about offering Godred Swalestrom the crown of Ilsabarn?"

* * *

**A/N: Yet another chapter with 5 PoVs! I have a feeling this will soon become the norm… and Grey will be happier still! Hooray!**

**Now, on to review responses…**

**Sebias: What can a seer do if they want something hard enough? ****What can't a seer do if they want something hard enough? The Dravanians getting riled up made me grin like a madman while writing. And yes, I would not want to be a failed guard either. At least they ended up better than Thordan's jailers... ****I had to split the political intrigue segment from last chapter into two due to length concerns. Besides, who doesn't like a vermin point of view? **

**Grey: Like a well-stirred gravy indeed! About Dagbert, what better way is there to introduce a character than playing the audience and their perceptions? Dagbert and Isangrim fighting does seem like a good idea... Thordan won't die offscreen just yet, mind you. Though I like to give you little surprises now and then... The honeycomb part was interesting... I can imagine everyone's second favourite weasel saying that. Oh, and you must have confused Otharn and Valnain at the end of your review.**

**I picked this chapter title because all five PoV characters are going on their little journeys, flying towards their goals.**

**There is something in the last few paragraphs of the Renart segment I want you to pay a bit of attention to - especially if you had read **_**Take Your Place**_**. I can't exactly tell you now, but things will be clearer soon…**

**Chapter 21 (**_**Intertwined**_**) will be up on 28/29 August!**


	21. Intertwined

**Intertwined**

* * *

**REMSFORD, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD**

As night descended on the realm, Somerled was examining his options. Stretching his shoulder, and letting out a whimper of pain, his mind came to an obvious fact.

Being defeated, or more accurately, _routed_ brought little advantages.

For one, King Somerled's decimated army is trapped miles beyond enemy lines, with forts, rivers and two separate enemy forces in the way. King Garmund's own host, still in Bleswyn, is in no position to assist in any for a considerable amount of time.

This, though is but the least of Somerled's worries. His shoulder burns have been mostly healed, but the fact that some vermin was able to reach him in his dreams was unnerving, to say the least. Duke Kestutas of Burelas, being a beast of stars and phantoms, might have an answer to this pressing question, but he was long since dead and buried. It was rather uncommon, to say the least, for Somerled to actually wish for a dead rival to return to him, but fear does all manner of things to a beast.

Descending upon Floret along the River Rems was a viable option, taking a few river forts along the way being a strategy used by many before. This could have taken away one of Floret's rivers, but there was another. Besides, King Garmund explicitly told him not to go for Floret one more time.

Truth be told, Garmund himself could be headed towards Floret as Somerled was wasting time doing nothing but thinking to himself. But there was not much Somerled could do. After receiving Garmund's message, he began to understand why the Southard were not willing to bow to Triel. Not that he _sympathised _with them, of course. They were traitors who all deserved a traitor's demise, and deserved no place in history.

Recovering from Macolt was easy enough, but the real wound was targeted at the squirrelking's pride. A king losing to a mere lord was bad enough, but hearing that Lord Garrion had deferred his command to a lowly commoner turned that situation from a setback to a _calamity_. He had heard _nothing _of Galen Snowpath before, which was entirely normal, but that unknown otter had the bravery and audacity to defeat him. Somerled hoped that his luck would run out soon - as many had done before.

However, with the coming of a new hope from Parma, his luck seemed to turn the other way. The otter, Amalrik he was called, was the only beast who could manage to soothe his wounds, physical or otherwise. He was quite a jolly beast, and seemed not to have a care in the world, but there was always something that seemed to reside in his head, and nobody else. Somerled was almost tempted to throw a knife at his face at him a few times - the grin was unnerving, to say the least - but he was able to change his mind just in time.

And the games. Amalrik loved play almost as much as he loved his work. Even when healing his shoulder bit by bit, he always managed to take a look at his set of playing cards, with the figures on top never seeming to wear out. When he and the otter played a game of chess (just to relieve the king's stress), the pieces seemed to gleam when he was holding them in his paw. He could have sworn the healer grinned every time the squirreking made a move, though not without reason - the otter tended to win a lot.

Finally realising the coming night, the squirrel hoped sleep would come soon, and a dreamless one at that. The marten shall not trouble him again with his vermin sorcery further, and somehow he was sure of that.

* * *

**STATION OF AWAKENING, THE RIFT**

Clutching the golden object in his paws, Slyte found himself in the Rift once more.

The initial dizziness was overcome within seconds, though why in the heavens Arbert would call them here would be a mystery. Conjuration may be weaker than Thaumaturgy, but the former is more suited to making paths to other worlds than its sister power. Slyte barely had time to punch through the barrier after being chased by twoscore guards.

Standing in the little circle were the mole brothers. As usual, Dagbert wore his white and Arbert red - a little reminder to their duties as Archivist and Hunter - or more accurately, Emissary and Warrior. The clothes fitted them well - Dagbert's hobby being lazing around and Arbert's being brutally smashing everything that stood in his way.

They managed to track him down after what transpired in Greymorg, no doubt suddenly alarmed by the sudden lightning bolt that came from nowhere. After a few sudden explanations and an explosion of information Slyte was not prepared for in any way, he agreed to join them in their little campaign.

The Architect was always a different story, of course. While the moletwins joined for reasons incomprehensible and the pine marten for reward, the General of Sword joined for duty. One can even see the grim look on his face to guess that he was _not_ enjoying the experience of working with vermin.

His face was still riddled with numerous scars obtained from all _four_ battles he had been in - the big gash from Macolt. Slyte had met with his Bondbeast target there, and told him vital information in the usual manner of seers - that is, using many words to say nothing at all.

Unlike most beasts who called themselves seers, Slyte had the powers the Fates had granted, and he could use them as much as he wanted to - provided he had taken the necessary precautions, of course. He was levels above in Seercraft above Ralos, and about the equal of Dagbert and Arbert, who in turn are as strong as any Woodlander could be.

"I see that all four of us are in attendance." Arbert was the most experienced warrior among the four of them, so he fashioned himself the leader - conveniently neglecting the fact that he had his axe to talk for him. "Have you brought the object, Slyte?"

"I have indeed." Enamel-marked images, alongside with the magnificent jewels etched on it, made the Jaysian Crown perpetually recognizable. Placing the crown on the table, Slyte returned to a sitting pose.

"King Gideon would have need of that." Ralos sighed as he stood up and took the crown in his paws. "I see that the both of us are the only ones who had succeeded in our respective missions, though yours was definitely harder." Handing over the object to Dagbert, he managed a nervous smile - a smile that Slyte found himself copy unconsciously.

The elder mole closed his eyes to help with his concentration while his three partners watched on, the tension in the air slowly rising as the Recorder embraced Conjuration, seeking what was only known to him. Then-

Nothing happened.

When Slyte found it prudent to open his eyes once more, he saw nothing but frustrated sighs.

Dagbert opened his mouth - slightly disappointed, but not surprised. "This is no Augmenter."

Ralos rolled his eyes. "So it shall seem. That leaves no more than three possible options."

Arbert had no reaction on his stony face except a nod - which meant that everything was relatively normal. "The Sword of Martin from Redwall, the Lance of Corriam from Summerdell and one other from Salamandastron."

Dagbert concurred. "Verminfate. I believe you are on its trail, I take it?" The question earned another nod from Arbert.

Slyte found himself speak. "The Crown shall be left to King Gideon, but what about the other Conjuration Augmenters?" Thordan Skyward had already found and identified four - Heavensward from Dravania, Stormblood from Parma and Shadowbringers from who-knows-where (Triel, maybe?), as well as the Sword of Martin. He had possession of the former three, but was turned back from pursuing the fourth somehow. Killing him before he could divulge anything from his loose thing did not help matters.

"Lorelei must have Turned them." Ralos shook his head. "Perhaps they may serve a better purpose in the paws of her pet fox." The squirrel may be unskilled and untried as a seer, but he was learning quickly. At first he was unused to the world of skullduggery and intrigue, but beasts change with every tick of the clock.

"Moving on." The squirrel gestured with a flick of his wrist. "What are we going to do with Thordan? The younger one, I mean. It is basically confirmed he is indeed a seer."

"With Emmeroloth looming over him, there is nothing much we can do. We have to take him out of the picture soon." Arbert's gaze never left his own Amplifier - a weird blue crystal with jagged edges which he obtained from the Iceshard. It was almost as strong as an Augmenter, but his Conjuration had its limits, growing only linearly, or something like that.

It was a surprise to Slyte that his Seercrafting was the most powerful among the four, or that he was even a seer. The mole brothers helped him escape Greymorg via supernatural means, and after a detour to Seafoam Isle in the Western Sea, here he was in Floret, serving as an assassin targeting those who crossed the path of Southsward.

"But how?" The marten found himself ask. "We don't know what he's planning, and I doubt that we could even take him on at all, with his pesky Bond with Lorelei. At least her father's whereabouts are unknown." The fox was about two levels above Slyte in Seercraft, but those two levels could constitute the greatest of differences.

"He needs to be isolated." Arbert's reply was terse.

"So…" Slyte cocked his head to one side. "We do nothing until he makes a mistake? Sounds useless to me."

"Not nothing." Dagbert revealed a little smile. "We just wait until he makes some kind of misstep. Arbert will get Verminfate here, I will see to Southard affairs, and Ralos will be back in the field."

His smile dissolved as his eyes rolled towards Slyte. "In the meantime, you will head to Bleswyn."

* * *

**FLORET, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD**

It took nine days, three hours, twenty minutes, a letter from his father and a severe reprimand from the rest of the family to make Godred Swalestrom understand that killing his cousin is a bad, _bad _idea. Of course, this was not his fault - his beasts were overly eager to take the city, and Sigurd was overly eager to defend it.

Now, he was in for a talk with his close kinsbeasts about a matter of a vastly different nature.

"Wait. To summarise everything, you want _me_, of all beasts, to become the King of Jayso?

"Well, it's less about Jayso and more about Ilsadia, but you get the idea." Garrion continued to stare at him like he was some foreigner. Well, he was indeed a foreigner-to-be, but when was his brother so hostile?

It was like his father and uncle all over again. For three generations straight brother and brother had conflicts of interest within House Swalestrom, and a fourth was soon to follow.

'Southsward needs you, Godred." This time, it was Bellamy who spoke. Their mother was absent, being more and more withdrawn after the death of her lastborn child, though her daughter forced herself back into activity.

"But Jayso does not!" Thumping his paw on the table in front of him, he stood up. "And neither does Ilsadia!" He fumed on and on. "Why do I have to leave Southsward just to answer the call of some mouse who wasn't even born a lord?"

"Godred!" A shrill voice thundered through the room while Garrion failed to drop his stare. "Every country, every lordship are too intertwined now. I will do my duty taking on the Trielians, and Bells will do hers looking after mother. Now it's just you."

"Fair enough." Godred sighed as he walked away from the room. "My duty will be done indeed, but rest assured that I will not do it happily."

To accentuate the point, he closed the door behind him.

* * *

**KALDOS, LORDSHIP OF KALDOS, KINGDOM OF DRAVANIA**

Kaldos was not the same as Thordan had remembered. He visited his father there about six or seven times, but this was different. His brother was dead, his father miles away in Triel, and he was here alone for the first time.

The city was not as well as he remembered it. Beasts have left the harbour long ago, preferring to strengthen their positions outside the city walls. Thordan heard that a new set of walls were to be built to keep the Southards out, paid for and organised by Lord Strandsor. He could only hope that it could work.

The harbours of Kaldos were the exact location he and his paternal half-siblings said their goodbyes, so it should make sense that there they would meet once more. Well, one of them anyway. The lordling may have never met with Sigurd much, but he was his brother nonetheless - and a good one.

_I should have went with him._ _Grandfather has passed away, and Sigurd followed. Why does everyone connected to me need to suffer? It isn't fair. _

The otter in his dreams told him that he and his father had spoken for the last time. Which may mean that his father would die far, far away from his eyes. Or that he would die before his father. Neither choice seemed entertaining to him.

There was also the significant possibility that the otter may be lying. Yes, he may have never gave his name and spoke in the vaguest of manners, but something told him that he was trustworthy. He was not telling the whole truth though. That he was certain.

He embraced Sigrun at the docks again, her afraid of losing him almost as much as he was of losing her. After a few more introductions (and funny looks from the Strandsors at Egil), he was invited back into the castle.

"I fear that your father could not join us here," the elder Lord Strandsor sighed. "He is in Triel, you see, fighting for the beast He was nearing his fortieth season, yet he behaved like some kind of child, Egil, Skipper Becker, or some combination of the three. Thordan preferred his son to him, though he seemed quite likeable for the moment.

"Kaldos has waited for you for far too long, Young Thordan Swalestrom." Haakon Strandsor spoke next with his calm voice. "Anxiously, as we would like to add."

"What for?"

"This city is yours, Thordan. As the only loyal Dravanian lords, we would like to offer you the crown, the throne, and all of Dravania."

Thordan let out an audible gasp. "Why me, of all beasts?"

Lord Gustav stood up only to pace around the room. "I confess that I wanted the crown for myself in the beginning. But Dravania always needed a Swalestrom, and I was only married to one." He continued without even catching his breath. "Your father broke his marriage vows - " Thordan could hear Sigrun tense - "so he would not be accepted as king. As his only surviving son, you are our only candidate. Please consider it well."

Thordan spoke, and the world changed.

* * *

**DALAGAB, THE LIGHTNINGSHARD**

The beast who called himself Emetselk stood up, finally free of duties for the first day.

The only other beasts in the Aetherochemical Research Facility were both vermin. Emmeroloth was one of them, having travelled from the world he was born and arriving in this shard. Now with his master, King Thordan of Parma dead and buried, he would have the full allegiance of the fox - not counting Lorelei of course. The beast who called himself Emetselk was tolerated by the fledgling queen who finally got out of her father's shadow.

Emmeroloth was a mostly self-taught Thaumaturge, but Thordan had done well enough. He knows all the basics, the Triad of Death and so on, and the opening of Pathways. Of course, the beast who called himself Emetselk went further, heading to different shards with his secret apprentice, and learning by experience rather than by the book.

Of course, there were some who would stop them. Long have the beast who called himself Emetselk evade the moles from Southsward, losing Thordan Skyward on the way. Now, though, they have no idea that the beast who called himself Emetselk was still active, or even alive for that matter.

King Thordan had specified that Emmeroloth, as Isangrim, take care of his grandson, also called Thordan. The beast who called himself Emetselk thought that his _other_ grandson, Corrado, would be tried and tested as a seer, but his many qualities were in fact all mundane. Emmeroloth suggested that this way because of his ancestor's blowing of Oliphaunt, which is likely, considering the evidence.

The other vermin, though, was slightly less familiar to Emmeroloth. The beast who called himself Emetselk had found his soul, floating in the void, his life cut short by events occurring in the Source. Of course, mundane means had done what Seercraft cannot do, and the brown-furred vermin soon found himself awake.

His first reaction was simple. "Why am I alive?" He _had _been a bit dead, but that problem was remedied not long after the beast who called himself Emetselk's arrival.

"Where is this place?" was his second. This was quite understandable. The beast had never been to another world before, and he had no power to wield Conjuration or Thaumaturgy. The beast that called himself Emetselk nearly mistook the Aetherochemical Research Facility for the Skein of Severance in the Windshard, but the poor beast was unsatisfied with the answer, correct it may be.

His last question was "Why am I a stoat?" Of course, the stoat was not born a stoat, but that did not matter in his new body. Who he originally was remained a secret between the three, and the beast that called himself Emetselk was able to lull the exhausted stoat to sleep before any more questions were asked.

Of course, the stoat was but the first step. Sooner or later, the Heaven's Ward will be complete.

It is etched.

* * *

**A/N: Ah. Another chapter complete, with cliffhangers everywhere. This is actually my favourite chapter at the time of its completion, so I hope you like it!**

**But first, there is always the responses!**

**One-Eye: Yeah, last chapter is indeed my twentieth chapter, in case you have not noticed. I am glad you did, though.**

**Sebias: Will Lorelei survive? With every seventh chapter introducing a new beast to take advantage of chaos, every character is in mortal peril, even if some do not know it. You have a point about Alfyn and Lorcan - I would take them over the Boreller squirrels all day. I hope that you see Ralos as even cooler than before, after the events of this chapter. Denebas' chances are not really that high, but more unlikely things had happened before... And we get another puppet Swalestrom. Lovely. Who will die trying to get to the top? Who will die why trying not to get to the top? Who will die crying? Who will die laughing? Who will give up on living and choose to die? Who will give up on dying and choose to live?**

**Grey: Journeying indeed! Godred and Thordan being kings was not expected by anybeast of political importance, but perhaps the readers did? Borellers are tough indeed, but they have limits. I wonder what would it take to leak or break... Dirk meeting Ralos and Dagbert was a scene that I considered scrapping, but now you see why I kept it here. You will see soon what Lorelei wants Renart to do? Is it a trap? Perhaps... though seeing Renart get outfoxed was most entertaining, of course.**

**In the next chapter, we will go back to some characters that we have not seen for quite a while. Some of them have not even appeared in Book II!**

**Chapter 22 (_Machinations_) will be ready on around 4/5 September! **


	22. Machinations

**Machinations**

* * *

**KURBURG, KINGDOM OF OTHARN, KINGDOM OF PARMA**

Of all the emissary training Bertil received, no piece of advice was more valuable than the Three Rules of Diplomacy.

Contrary to what may seem obvious to outsiders, the 'rules' were more like guidelines as opposed to actual rules. The first of those was to show no ill will towards anybeast, and to be polite to all beast who stand against you. Lord Sverker excelled in this aspect, though his father _somehow_ always favoured his other son. Harald Crestworth was a born warrior who talks of nothing else but talk of looping heads off. It would only take but three guesses to why Bertil favoured Sverker, and the first two do not count.

The second is to never hate. This sounded hard, so Bertil settled with not expressing hatred. Again, Sverker was a master in this aspect compared to his brother - even Thordan Swalestrom would make a better diplomat than Harald - diplomats preferred shyness to impulsiveness, of course.

This is all because of the third rule - the only way not to break your word is not to give it. The world changes all too fast for trust to be given for long. So why bother? Silence speaks louder than words anyway.

He of course had not mastered the skills a diplomat should have, but enough had been done that his dispatches to Thordan and Erlend Swalestrom were received successfully. The son and the father were both quiet, unassuming, and maybe cowardly beasts, though Bertil did not need to guess why this was the case.

He had returned to Kurburg with Lord Erlend's message. Lord Valdemar was initially dismissive, but would meet with every single member of House Crestworth except for Lady Bengjerd, who is pregnant, and Lord Sverker, who remained in Doma in the time being.

Sverker was the more dutiful of the two, though he lacked his father's favour. After all, while his brother would very much like to rule the world by fire and sword, Sverker would like the same thing while remaining seated the whole time. Slothfulness may not be a virtue seen in a lord, but Bertil had faith in Sverker. After all, he was the one to recommend the hedgehog as an emissary, thus allowing him to bid a final farewell to the job he had learned to hate.

He never got on well with the rest of the guards, which is probably why he was left with the most boring jobs (just like his liege). Of course, this fact had saved his life back at Raevsvakt in the whole Thordan Swalestrom business. He was all too lucky not to have lost his head in the most literal of manners.

He walked into the room behind the Crestworths. The four of them were all of age, though Harald was barely so, being but ten and eight seasons old. He had always carried a look of determination that his brother and great-uncle had lacked.

The same can be said for his father, though in a different way. Harald may be fire, but Valdemar was stone, cold, unmoving and unyielding. He was stubborn, of course, and a natural enemy of Queen Lorelei. Bertil managed to hold a shudder at the thought of him claiming Meraholmer, and starting another great war, though he was always vague about his intentions. Sverker _could _be a good Lord of Meraholmer, better than his father, or Thordan Swalestrom for that matter. It was a pity that Harald was poised to take over that office as well.

_Better that than two Lords of Doma. _Doma was at the northernmost point of Otharn, though its inhabitants were more closer to Meraholmer and Dravania in blood and language. The whole Northern Coast of Parma used to be Dravanian, though most of the territories West of Doma, Vargo included, were assimilated into the Otharnese sphere of things; while the Eastern parts developed an identity closer to Laagmeer than Doma, with their disdain for kings and lords evident on their scowls and jeers, while living under the rule of chieftains.

Grandmaster Otto began the conversation, as always. Being the younger brother of Valdemar, he would much rather join the Shieldbrothers than be entitled to his portion of the Doman Lordship. He was a bright and affable otter, though a fearsome warrior nonetheless - he had not got the title for nothing. Pledged to serve Parma, Otto feared politics more than anything, so he never bothered to appear in the last of the three Electoral Councils - the one with but three otters participating. Obviously, that did not sit well with Valdemar, and so here he was.

"So what should be done now?"

"Aldabreschi would never let anyone among us be king after allying with him. We could _use _him, though not for long. And we cannot afford to make any more enemies. Lorelei is tacky enough, but with her son holding Meraholmer anything bad can happen. At least King Erlend is not interested in the Parma throne."

"We have to give credit to him." Niels spoke next. The lord was always calm, and helped mediate between his brother and King Thordan in previous disputes, and had always enjoyed a "He knows the cost of the crown."

"Well we need a king anyways!" Harald was ever brash, but this time the Crestworths needed such impulse - impulse Sverker did not seem to possess. "Father can fit the role very well!"

'Being king is not that easy, Harald." Lord Valdemar said with a flick of his paw. "We need support. The king, whoever he is, must be hated by none, and must be able to pass judgement and show mercy at the same time."

"These beasts are few in number." Otto laughed, as if he knew something the others did not.

"Indeed." Niels affirmed. A silence ensued when Niels finally realised why his nephew laughed. "Um… why are all of you looking at me like that?"

"You will be a great king, uncle." Otto said as he knelt.

"I am sure the Electors will agree with you, Otto. Queen Lorelei especially." Valdemar smiled - a rare occurrence.

Bertil found himself kneeling as Harald did, with the bodyguards following suit. Niels groaned.

* * *

**KALDOS, LORDSHIP OF KALDOS, KINGDOM OF DRAVANIA**

The courtyard of Castle Kaldos was not particularly silent for the recent months, but with the return of a lord to take charge of the long-neglected city, tranquility seeped in bit by bit. The grass was trimmed to a reasonable length, and the old oak tree were starting to grow leaves again, where under the shades friends sat and talked.

However, the adjective 'tranquil' was not (in normal circumstances) used to describe any single location where Lord Alfyn Stalwart was located in.

"Why in the world would you reject the crown?" the otterlord screamed. Egil may have taken a liking to the tall otter compared to when they first met in Raevsvakt, but the weasel was just as scared of him as he was

Thordan was never known for his best decisions, but Egil would have never guessed that he would throw away the Dravain crown just like that. Sitting under the oak tree of Kaldos Castle was no king, but a nervous little teenager. The Wolf Banner had been resting just by the tree trunk, with no breeze to make it move.

And Thordan knew it too. "I did not_ reject_ it! I just asked for a delay!" In Egil's opinion Thordan should had put the crown on his own head as fast as possible, and jammed it so tight that it cannot be taken off his head. But Thordan was Thordan, and not Egil the weasel.

At least Lord Strandsor had the good sense and good will to make him Regent of the Kingdom - an office with its little description being this too was not a desired outcome by Thordan, but he would do everything that keeps him away from the crown - not that this would matter in the long run, as the crown would descend on his head sooner or later, willingly or not.

"Well, you need to get yourself into something important soon." Lady Sigrun sighed as he sat down next to her half-brother. Her other brother's death affected her much, though she had refused to show it. Instead, she was carrying the whole 'Swalestrom against Swalestrom' business on her own. "Lord Strandsor wants you as a mere puppet - this I am certain!"

"Well, everyone does seem to have manipulating me as a hobby sometimes." Thordan erupted into a mirthless laugh, that seemed weird, terrifying even. "From the greatest of kings to the lowliest of vermin." He winked in Egil's direction without a smile on his muzzle, making sure that the weasel saw.

_He knows! _The contents of that little conversation the younger weasel shared with his father during his first meeting of Thordan have not been disclosed, but Thordan had a knack at guessing what was going on. Not a lot of vermin would go all out in befriending their betters, and Egil did seem excessively attached to the otterlord at first. _Seasons, he knows!_

Thordan then reverted into the long-expected smile. Egil sighed with relief as Alfyn sighed, for a different reason.

"While I do not approve of your rejection of the crown, I am bound to obey your every command. As I am but a landless otter of noble blood, I have no obligation to any lord for now. I wish to swear my fealty to you."

"You are a brave warrior and a true leader of beasts, Alfyn Stalwart. I shall be pleased to accept your sword and shield into my service." Thordan was visible trembling while his sister stood up and sat away from him.

"I pledge homage to you, Regent Thordan Swalestrom, rightful ruler of Dravania." Alfyn clearly memorised these words - these words that had brought weight and duty with them, and though sparingly used, came from the mouths of every single noble parent. "I will remain your devoted beast as long as my breath belongs to my body, and I will be at your side to fight your enemies as long as you are in need of my sword. I will uphold the claims and rights of you and your rightful heirs. This I swear!"

The otterlord took a deep breath before his mouth started moving again. "Thus is our treaty etched, thus is agreement made."

Thordan never even blinked. "What is asked is given, and the price is paid." _The traditional rhyme of fealty. _"May you uphold your oath always, with proper courage and determination."

The Regent continued, every syllable louder and clearer than the last. "Let it be known that from this day forward, you are my sworn beast and vassal. I give you my protection and grant you the right to bear your arms in my name, and I pledge that shall not deprive you of your life, liberty and properties expect by the lawful judgement of your peers and the law and custom of the land. I shall also grant you the Lordship of Meraholmer, with all its rents, revenues and beasts at your command under my authority."

Egil's eyes grew as large as ripe oranges. _Meraholmer to Alfyn? A Trielian? Half the island's population are vermin! Would they accept him? Or would they be put down? Alfyn is an efficient soldier, and - _The weasel shuddered at the thought of Islander killing Islander.

_Something must be done._

* * *

**GYSTRA, DRAVANIA, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD**

"So Dravania has raised its banner against Southsward?" Lord Lorents Rueford was not known as the calmest beast of the realm, but even he was able to annoy Becker to such a degree that his ears will simply not stop buzzing as soon as the other lord entered the room.

"So it shall seem." Becker was most irritated by the news that the Wolf Banner was in Dravain paws once more, but so far he was able to show nothing of his wrath. Despite it being obvious that Thordan is nothing other than a puppet and a weakling, it would be a good idea to get him out of the picture as soon as possible.

The question is how.

"We need to march on Kaldos as soon as possible. Surprise the enemy." The Ruefords were not pleased when Thordan was declared Regent of the Realm, but was _incensed _when Gustav Strandsor got the position of Realmwarden. The two otterlords _despised _each other so, that whenever they met, words turn into spears, and tongues into swords. Lord Strandsor whispering into Thordan's ear did not help manners.

"I assure you that your vendetta of sorts will be settled, though you would have to wait." Becker shook his head. "Somerled of Deilart marches towards Hildrinn, and we can't be outclassed by Garrion, can we?"

"Well, I can deal with your wayward nephew. Just give me three thousand beasts and I will - "

"There is no need for division of the army. You are the best _aide de camp _I can ask for. Rest assured that I can deal with Thordan myself, though I think I need your son here. I have some mission for him soon."

Lord Rueford turned his head, ready to retire for the night in his positions across the river. The Udso was the border between Southsward and Dravania until King Riddian III crossed it, and Gystra built on both sides of the river and by the sea - a little melting pot for Southard and Dravain influences alike. When Thordan Swalestrom declared the Kingdom of Dravania revived, the Gystran Dravanians stayed loyal to Southsward. Their loyalty will be rewarded, of course.

Pawsteps from behind made Becker shiver, though he had grown accustomed to them.

"I heard that you have a little family problem," the hedgehog said as he smiled. Phronesis was a healer of the highest caliber, able to use herbs to their fullest potential, and a genuinely calm and friendly beast.

The hedgehog almost made Becker think of his brother. Last time Becker heard of him, he was slowly wasting away with grief while heading to Bleswyn. The seasons have been acted well on him, it seems.

"Care you care for me to take it off your shoulders?" Phronesis' smile turned suddenly lighter in magnitude and intensity.

"That depends on the circumstances."

* * *

**VARGO, LORDSHIP OF VARGO, KINGDOM OF OTHARN, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA**

"So you _don't _want a loan? Skuli sat up, intrigued by the suggestion of the young otterlord.

Corrado Truetide (not to be confused with his father or son of the same name) was a tall beast of twenty-two seasons, and he had his mother's Trielian fur. Of all the noblebeasts he had catered to, Corrado was the strangest, yet somehow most relatable.

He was kind enough to bring a court bard with him to Vargo. Eduard Muirsch, he was called, and was one of the few vermin able to worm his way into the heart of a lord - a strategy Skuli used himself with the youngest of his three sons. Unlike Egil, though, the rat was no childhood acquaintance, instead having been sought out by the otterlord himself, and now follows wherever the lord goes by his own will.

The reformation of the Kingdom of Dravania drew worries from everyone of note, and that included Skuli. Thordan Swalestrom, a king to be? What used to be a joke has soon become the harshest of realities. The fledgling nation would need a strong paw to guide it. Thordan would be a better king in a time of peace, but not now.

The same cannot be said for Corrado. Being a warrior by nature and having an eye for the boldest of enterprises, both his friends and enemies trembled before him, and for good reason. Being a beast of boundless ambition and drive, he resembled King Thordan a bit too much - not the one that died that season, but the one before that.

Thordan the First married the Lady of Hither Garlseca (whose title Corrado now holds), and started a tradition of marrying heiresses. His son married the Queen of Garlesca, and his grandson married the Duchess of Thavnair. Scholars now say that the Skyward holdings cannot be held together by long, and a long series of early deaths in the family minimised their hopes for dividing the family lands. With Corrado, who produced a son (with a crowned head, even) at age seventeen and continuing to pop out otterpups with his _very _attractive wife, there is some hope for stability.

Such dreams would have to wait until the war is over though. With Garmund's Trielites and Garrion's Otterguard dancing in the Greatrange, two Swalestroms, one of them Thordan (of all beasts!), closing on crowns, and Parma still being in interregnum, stability is a far-off fantasy.

"Yes. I come here to buy a full-on merchant fleet." Corrado smiled as he poured more wine into his goblet before a servant could reach for the cup. "Actually, part of it would suffice."

"Oh, I guess the prices would not be particularly affordable." Skuli chuckled.

"I would pay any price to safeguard the rights of my son." Corrado drank heartily from his goblet. "Speaking of which, my wife is with child again."

"Oh?" _Not unexpected._

"I think I will deal with Godred Swalestrom and that slimy Aldabreschi before long." Corrado smiled. "My grandfather _tried_, of course, but I have faith that I can do better. Mother is trying to disentangle the Aldernese and Valnanier links of the chain, but she left Ilsadia to me."

The otterlord turned to his minnesanger. "Eduard? Play _The Wanderer_. Every performance does need a grand finale."

* * *

**FLORET, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD**

Birger Waycaster did not expect his brother's return.

As far as he was concerned, Bodvar was rotting in Bleswyn, a prisoner of the Trielian rampage into his homeland. Yet here he was, standing right in front of him, with his signature Waycaster grin on his face - a smile Birger returned in kind.

Birger was no stranger to battle himself - he was a foot soldier under the command of General Ralos, though he did not do anything much at Macolt. Bodvar participated in Vernoll, and escaped Trielian captivity using nothing but his wits and Pickner - a family friend.

Of course, the brothers still had their journeys to complete - Lord Becker needed every single bit of beastpower to firmly crush the rebelling Dravanians. Birger's ancestors may had came from Dravania themselves, but the brothers were Southards through and through. There was no questioning their loyalty.

The two brothers hugged each other for the first time in months. "Gates, I missed you." Birger spoke first, as he smiled warmly for the first time in months.

"How's things with Wayla?" Bodvar seemed downright giddy with joy while Birger blushed. After all, the two brothers may have been close, but Bodvar doesn't know how to stop prodding his nose into the love lives of other beasts.

"She accepted my proposal! We're t' be wed after the war's over!"

'That's good t' hear!" Bodvar war clearly infected by his brother's mirthful spirit. The two were always alike from birth, though they were born two seasons from each other.

The brothers laughed their way into the night.

* * *

**A/N: Another chapter done, another feat complete. Review responses coming up!**

**One-Eye: Well, cliffhangers serve many a purpose. You may know it or not, but I am sure that you waited a whole week to see if Thordan accepted the request. Cliffhangers from serial novels actually have quite a long history - blame Dickens for that. Anyways, I have but a single thing to say about cliffhangers. If it worked for Scheherazade, it works for me.**

**Grey: You get a kingdom! You get a kingdom! Everyone gets a kingdom! Seriously, Thordan and Godred both offered crowns was not planned during the two years that I speak of so often - only Godred's case was considered. As for Thordan, I just had to add that. Can't let our little 'protagonist' get a little too safe, can we? I'm rather proud of every scene where more than one seer talks, so I am quite glad that the Southard Four talking was able to to impress you. Oh, and healer? Magical? When was the last time we heard those two words getting lunked together?**

**Sebias: Ah, yes. The cliffhanger. The cliffhanger for Sebbie, the cliffhanger chosen especially to entertain Sebbie, Sebbie's cliffhanger. That cliffhanger? Yes. Now you get to see what happened after 'the world changed'. You think he'll make a great king, hmm? I have my doubts... For now, the stoat will play the role of a side character. I promise you that will be important in some other tale. ;)**

**It has indeed been a while since I wrote a chapter completely full of mundane stuff. I believe the last time I did this was in June, was it? Don't worry. Seers will be back soon, and calamity with them.**

**Chapter 23 (**_**Discordance**_**) will be up on 11/12 September!**


	23. Discordance

**Discordance**

* * *

**VARGO, LORDSHIP OF VARGO, KINGDOM OF OTHARN, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA**

"Tell me what you know about Thaumaturgy, Hersent." Queen Lorelei smiled as best as anyone with her personality could, yet something fell short in the eyes of the grey vixen.

"Isangrim told me that it is a torrent of power, which has to be seized." Wielding the power of Thaumaturgy may be easier compared to Conjuration, but it shrinks away from one's touch like a rebellious child. "Awe and menace are all you can feel when holding it."

"Well at least you got the basics right." Lorelei said, taking out a book from her satchel. The two seers were not in the palace, instead having retreated away into Lorelei's mountain residence. Well, the otterqueen had to take a break from all that politicking somehow. The fact that the fox was sitting higher than she had ever been did little to disturb her thirst for knowledge though. As a matter of fact, it was heightened even more than before.

"And you do know how it can be used, right?" The sudden voice snapped her out of her trance. "Isangrim is not a beast to shy around the details."

She remembered what the black fox had told her. _Conjuration is a gentle river with the Conjurer a waterwheel, with energy to power whole families and villages. _Thaumaturgy, on the other paw, was wholly different. "It is but a force to be controlled and seized, like the howling ocean or something." She could not stop the last two words from seeping out of her mouth. It shall seem that there is much more to 'proper speak' than ditching an accent.

Fortunately, the otterwife paid no mind to her words as she threw a little statue to her. 'This in an Amplifier. As you know, you cannot access Thaumaturgy without one of these or an Amplifier - not in this world, anyway."

Loose lips again proved to be Hersent's undoing. "There are others?"

Lorelei glared at the grey fox, earning an apology in return. "Yes, yes. Or so I have heard anyway. Not that I have been to any one of them, of course. Isangrim would be more well-versed in this matter."

The otter continued. "All worlds were one once, but something happened that split it into seven. We live in the centrepiece, or The Source, while the others surround us in two triangles, attuned to Thaumaturgy and Conjuration respectively."

The otter turned back to Hersent, who felt herself straighten. "No more questions. I don't know _that _much, so keep your voice down unless you want to be Pressured into doing so."

_Pressuring? _Isangrim had told her about that before - a way to allow your mind and will to leak into another creature's. It could not happen to her, can it? "I understand."

'Very well." The woodlander returned to a sort of calmness, at least outwardly. "As Isangrim's notes had stated, you are already more powerful than every Conjurer to live, though Isamgrim is still a level or two above you. I am not particularly powerful as a seer, but as I had promised my Bonder, you will be my student in the time that he is gone. You can do the basics, right?"

"Yes."

"Good. At least you're better than both of my sons. One's a Truetide, so he's out. The other, though.. he acts just like you do. But don't try to Bond him just yet. We have other options open to us."

* * *

**SALAMANDASTRON, LORDSHIP OF SALAMANDASTRON**

Nothing much had changed since Arbert's last journey to Salamandastron**.**

Of course, there were those hares with ale and wine for blood, carrying outrageous accents and insulting, obnoxious behaviours on their sleeves, and bearing ridiculously long names.

General Hollin (Arbert never knew his full name, and had no plans to do so) showed him to his quarters, where he sat musing. The loud and boisterous hare had defended the mountain when Greymorg played her paw of cards, descending upon Mossflower like the tides. Only with the efforts of Brink Rufeshodd the otter and Keetch the fox did Mossflower not only survive, but thrive. The appearance of both Becker and Erlend Swalestrom in Salamandastron and Redwall Abbey respectively did help, though the two incidents were not related.

Salamandastron was where Arbert came into play. His training as a warrior paid off well, and he helped sweep the vermin back into the Lands of Ice and Snow, where he met Keetch's ghost. He was the strongest in Thaumaturgy of all seers Arbert had met, but being _dead_, he was of no use to (or against) Arbert.

Having been to Mossflower meant that the mole could travel there again, as the destination has to be known before a beast opens a Gate. Arbert originally wanted to arrive suddenly within the mountain itself, but that was not exactly his brother would have called to be a safe decision. After all, those hares may not have recognised him and could spare so many arrows that he would soon look more like a hedgehog than a mole - they are similar in size.

It took half an hour for Lord Rathor 'the Tempest' to get ready to talk with him. The badgerlord was an imposing beast, taller than every beast he had seen, and almost every beast he had heard of. Living longer than everyone else was but another boon to badgers as a whole - as they were not overpowered already, being the best of warriors and (not exactly good) seers as well.

"I see that you have come to Salamandastron, friend." Rathor was a beast of clarity and logic, and would not enter a state of Bloodwrath easily - which cannot be said for Arbert. "For what are you here?"

"Seers are drawn to the mountain." Arbert replied with a nonchalant smile.

"You are a seer?" The badger was not a beast who was surprised often, but there is a first for everything - including finding a fellow seer right across a table.

"Indeed." _I only have to speak like Dagbert for about an hour until this is over… _

Arbert continued, "I am here to research the effects of meteoric steel on the ability of seers."

"Oh? Salamandastron's meteors have been rather rare as of late."

"I have heard that you have a sword forged with it."

"Do you mean the Sword of Martin the Warrior?" The badger smiled like an otter teaching his child how to swim.

"No. I mean Verminfate, the sword of Rawnblade Widestripe, who was not called Martin." _Just give it to me. The sooner it is in my paws, the sooner you can see it returned to you! It is that simple, isn't it?_

"You wish to borrow it?" The mole nodded.

"Well, the sword is my property, and I need it by my side." _Damnation._

"I do not need to have it amongst my possessions for too long. Three days and two nights shall suffice. Or is that too long for you?"

"It is not." The badger's smile faded. "I was just afraid that you were about to steal it."

"I assure you that I will not do so." Arbert had never been mistaken for a sword thief before. Sure, he had stolen an axe in the past, but that was long ago.

"Provided that the sword does not leave the mountain, you can use it in any way without shedding blood." The badger returned to his signature calmness. "Out of curiosity, just what are you planning to do with it?"

_A bit of humour would not hurt… _"I intend to sleep with it like a child does with a doll. In the chamber where you badgerlords carve your visions under the influence of Bloodwrath." Seeing the shocked look on Rathor's face, Arbert grinned as widely as he did in Greymorg three seasons ago.

'You did say 'in any way', did you?"

* * *

**DOMA, LORDSHIP OF DOMA, KINGDOM OF OTHARN, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA**

To be honest, Lord Sverker did expect the arrival of troops on the Doman shores. He just got the commanding officer wrong.

While Thordan Swalestrom had been vacillating and weak, being swayed by the beasts he called friends, Alfyn Stalwart was a true warrior in every describable way. He had the body of a warrior, being taller than every otter Sverker had ever seen. He was brave too, and had the mind of a tactician.

But he was not the leader of the Trielians on the Doman shores, no. That honour would go to Lorcan Stalwart. The absence of a white border on his shell banner meant all the difference to Sverker and Doma.

The Skipper of the Arnet Otterguard was a strategist instead of a tactician, but he was smart enough to land his troops far, far away from enemy activity (unlike Thordan Swalestrom, who just came upon the city, and left as swiftly as he came). Now, he was ending his investment of the city, until the parley, that is.

It would not be honourable for a lord to refuse an attempt at parley, so here they were, with Castle Doma, sipping tea while praying silently for the other's defeat.

"I see that you have the city surrounded, Lord Stalwart." Sverker coolly said, while adding his second lump of sugar, unlike Lorcan, who did not add anything, or his brother Harald, who's cup of tea would resemble more of a sugary mush than any sort of liquid.

"I can see that as well." The tall otterlord drank deep from his cup, then continued, "It would break proper etiquette to ask you to surrender now, would it not?"

"I do not think that that would be a good idea," replied Sverker. _Why did I choose the largest room for the parley anyway?_

The shorter otterlord decided to change the subject - and fast. "You must be lucky to have your brother sworn in as Lord of Meraholmer, Lord Stalwart. Not a lot of beasts could claim that honour, me included."

The cup almost fell out of Lord Stalwart's paw, and his face contorted for a while, though he shifted back into his calm look almost instantly. Sverker understood the surprise well. Thordan may have been a beast given to logic and deduction, but giving away his main power base to a random knight was unprecedented - not least when there were other beasts, every one more influential than the last, who desired the position. Gustav Strandsor must be boiling with rage right now.

"I was not aware that this had happened." Lorcan sipped his tea, seeking some sort of calmness though this did not seem possible with a cup with no sugar (or milk, for that matter). The Trielian may have been quick to regain his composure, but Sverker could have sworn that he could have bitten off his twin's head right there and then if he had only been there.

"You need not be so shocked, Lord Lorcan." Sverker attempted to salvage what was left of the parley. "Sure, the new Lord of Meraholmer turned out to be your brother, and my grand-uncle Niels was chosen to be King of Otharn-"

Lorcan Stalwart, Skipper of the Arnet Otterguard choked on his tea in full view of his troops - not to death, though. _Another parley, another incident. What could go wrong will go wrong, it seems._

* * *

**KALDOS, LORDSHIP OF KALDOS, KINGDOM OF DRAVANIA**

Eavesdropping was never an easy task for the large and burly Alfyn Stalwart, so he would be glad there was Sigrun Swalestrom to teach him.

The ottermaid gestured at a large pillar. "Just stand there and don't do anything, and you'll hear everything."

"Oh. Just why are you helping me listen to your brother's little secrets anyway?"

"Well, Alfyn, Thordan hasn't been, you know, _Thordan. _Something seemed to have changed him."

"Must have been the kingship," Alfyn spat. "Look. I may not approve of Thordan rejecting the crown, but which fool had the idea to give it to him in the first place?"

Before he could wait for an answer, footsteps rang out from the other side of the hallway.

"To the pillar! Now!" Both otters slinked off into the shadows as the now familiar figures of two mustelids entered the hallway.

The first was a young weasel, with his diminutive stature and brown fur, and he seemed quite jumpy and energetic, like he had not shut his mouth in months, if not seasons. He was talking to the second figure, a taller otter in white healer robes, with his look indicating that his sole job in the world was to allow other beasts to cry on his shoulder, and not a promised king to a nascent kingdom. Though Egil is yet the same, Thordan had changed.

"So now let me get my facts straight," moaned the otterlord. "Your father told you to befriend me for the sake of all verminkind?"

"Exactly." Egil probably knew that Thordan was quickly seeping into a bad mood, so he seemed to be less talkative than he already was. _Where did he learn this tact, anyway? _Alfyn was about to reveal himself when he saw Sigrun gesturing frantically. _This is not the time to move yet._

"To put it simply, I am asked to become a lord, a king, and somebeast far more important. All while two of my kin lay dead, and the entire world is at war. You did not intend to come to confess your intentions, solely, do you?

The two stopped walking as the weasel's brain scrambled for a response. Alfyn could see full well that the nature of Thordan and Egil's relationship had changed. But where? But why? A quick glance over his shoulder indicated that Sigrun wanted to ask the same questions.

The time came for Egil to sigh. "I wish to leave your service for a while. As I said before, my mission is to befriend you in the hopes that you will keep woodlander and vermin balanced, and you did so more than every lord that came before you." He took a deep breath, and continued. "But now that Alfyn's Lord, I just don't know. You see, Trielians don't really _like _vermin. They just cage 'em up and force them to - ya know the rest." The accent that Egil picked up from seafaring vermin seemed to surface with the ferocity of the tides. "Ya see, no vermin haz ter werry 'bout dat if yarr Lord, but dey won't like anybeast who mistreats dem. I fear -" The weasel held back a sob as his accent faded. "I fear that the fragile beast would be ruined right under your nose, so I think I need to go with Alfyn. Back to Raevsvakt."

Thordan scratched his ears. "Is it because of the establishments back there?" If the otterlord was expecting a laugh, he received none, and he only produced a sigh in return.

"Very well. I hope Alfyn agrees to take you. Though I have to say that leaving me alone to face the entire might of Southsward is the cruelest thing that you have ever done to me. I hope that makes you happy - and your father as well."

Nobeast in the room moved a muscle as a dejected Thordan Swalestrom walked out of the room they were in. That is, until Sigrun Swalestrom decides that it would be the best of times to tap the confused weasel on the shoulder.

Egil gasped to see that not one, but two creatures were listening to the entire conversation, but the trio soon melted to form another one.

"Thordan has changed. A lot." Egil complained. "Kingship has not been well on him."

"That would be my fault," sighed Sigrun. "I was stupid enough to think that Thordan would make a great king. He would, but he would function much, much better if he _wanted_ to be king."

"So it was _your _fault!" The weasel's face flickered with the slightest semblance of rage. "Honestly, with you two rambling about Thordan getting his crown, you two should marry and get crowns for yourselves!"

"Well, Lady Sigrun here is unmarried as of yet, and I'm set to marry Lady Bellamy Swalestrom after the war. Lorcan says that I'm a tool for peace just as a tool for war, but I don't really agree with him."

The three stood in silence for a while until Sigrun spoke to the tall otter. "So are you going to allow Egil here into your service?"

"That depends on what he plans to do with me. I can't let him order me what to do, can I?"

"I can promise you that that will not happen, Lord Stalwart." Egil bowed. "I hope you see that I am here to advise you. After all, I was born in Raevsvakt, and I know the folk back there. Especially the vermin."

"Well, rest assured that I will not force the customs that I was born with onto my lordship." Alfyn attempted a smile as he continued to speak, though it must have came out like an awkward scowl. "You will have to make do with a _purely _advisory role until I give another order. Understood?"

"I understand." Egil's ears stooped downward as he changed the subject. "But what about Thordan? Won't he think that I abandoned him by my own will, or something else that is not true?"

"Leave Thordan to me." Sigrun chose to intercede. "I can assure you that he will be back to normal in no time."

Alfyn wondered if the lady knew what she was talking about.

* * *

**HOLMINSTER, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD**

"Does it feel good to be back?"

Altayras always has trouble thinking before speaking, but this would be the first major misstep forward the young squirrel made on campaign. With no Denebas or Vega to guide him, it seemed almost twice as likely to make mistakes.

The beast being asked was Erlend Swalestrom, who had just lost his paramour and son due to the Southards. They will, of course, pay for all this, but not now.

"No, it does not feel good to be back, Altayras." The normally calm otterking seemed to be holding back his anger the whole time. He was a more pleasant beast to get along in previous seasons, but everything that could have gone wrong had gone wrong had went wrong for Erlend.

"I apologise for the comment." Altayras said as he sat down across the table. "I do not know how it is to lose a beast that I watched grow up."

"I can handle it." Erlend said almost without a shred of emotion. "If Skipper Becker can handle it, I can!"

Altayras had happened upon Erlend hastily scribbling a few letters just minutes ago, and (wrongfully) decided to initiate a conversation. "Who are these letters for?"

"One is for my son, the second for my daughter, and the third is for a certain vermin banker which I owe a lot to," Erlend tersely said as he put down his quill - and stared into Altayras' eyes without warning, to which he gave the same reaction.

The otter gave out a hollow laugh, but there seemed to be genuine mirth in it at the end. "Altayras, from the moment we met in Raevsvakt, I've always likened you to Sigurd." He paused for a while, reaching for his spear. Heavensward, it was called, and it was a true weapon indeed.

"This is for you, young one. I don't think my days wielding it will last long, so I would rather give this to someone that actually wants it. You see, Sigurd likes swords and Thordan does not get himself into combat, so here. Take it."

Altayras did so, reaching for the spear. The hooks on the spear made it more halberd than spear, but the Parmans called it a _roncone_, whatever that meant.

The weapon itself was well-balanced for both otter and squirrel, but the focal point was that the spear tip was really not that simple. Altayras knew a good weapon when he saw one, but this was the best spear he had ever set his eyes upon. There was no jewellery, no adornments - not even a single piece of gold or silver. But the speartip, the blade, was forged out of iron from the heavens themselves.

It was a spear good for a king.

"Use it well," said Erlend, smiling for the first time in what seemed like an eternity. "Do not simply wield it, but become it. Let the spear become a manifestation of your will."

"I understand."

The moment was swiftly interrupted by a mouse scrambling into the tent that held the two nobles. The otter and the squirrel both turned their heads towards the intruder as he caught his breath.

"The Southards are here!"

Altayras scrambled for his armour while Erlend calmly walked towards his own equipment, him having arrived in the camp in mostly full armour.

Donning his helmet in the first time since Raevsvakt, Erlend sighed.

"It ends here, brother. One way or another, it ends."

* * *

**A/N: This is one **_**long **_**chapter indeed! I have a feeling that five-segment chapters will become the norm from now on. Even though they won't likely be as common as we want them to be...**

**But as always, review responses first!**

**Sebias: Yes! He didn't take the crown! When did it occur to your mind that Thordan would actively seek responsibility? Well, let's just hope that he can produce some improved virtues and make a great king, shall we?**

**Grey: Niels. Yes. Not the best candidate for a conventional royal candidate, but you get the idea. Parmans want weak kings... Thordan refusing the crown was not really unexpected, but oh well. ****Yeah, last chapter was a rough chapter for Thordan. ****Everything just seemed too taxing on our young otter's mind. Let's hope that he improves. Unlike Thordan, Alfyn represents a traditional warrior Islebeast Lord, so anything could happen under his rule. The Waycaster reunion is actually the worst scene I have written (according to myself) for all the reasons you have mentioned. But anyway, any chapter with Skuli in it is a good chapter! And momentum is still being built up...**

**After five whole chapters of character development, political intrigue and magic seer stuff, we finally head back into the (relatively) mundane war. And I sometimes feel that I focus on some characters too much or too little… though that isn't much of a problem. **

**Chapter 24 (**_**Cold Salvation**_**) will be up on 18/19 September!**


	24. Cold Salvation

**Cold Salvation**

* * *

**HILDRINN, LORDSHIP OF HILDRINN, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD**

Becker was not welcome in Hildrinn.

Of course, his son forcing his way into the city and almost massacring the whole population was a major factor, but Becker did nothing of note to the city himself. _It's probably about the whole Thordan thing._

Now that there was an independent Dravania, Thordan Swalestrom, or more accurately, Gustav Strandsor, would very much like to have more and more troops be available to them. Lorcan Stalwart's Trielian reinforcements were certainly welcomed, but Becker would not want them to leech troops off of Southard Dravania.

After Somerled would be taken care of, Becker had made plans to head back to Gystra for supplies, but the situation called for an immediate march to Kaldos. At least Erlend had the mind to improve the roads of Dravania.

That was the only positive thought of his brother in months. Each of them had lost a son to the other's forces, but both of them had been focused on the other's total destruction more than ever before. Becker was sure that Erlend would attempt to break through Garrion's defences and open the way to Floret, while Becker was forced to resort to the most dishonourable tactics in order to pacify Dravania.

In the meantime, Godred was recalled by King Gideon, to open a new front in Parma. Godred would make for a good wartime king, but in peacetime his abilities would have to be questioned. However, just as Thordan has Strandsor, Godred has the almost legendary Guido Aldabreschi at his side. The mouse was one of the few beasts to oppose Thordan Skyward of Parma openly and live to tell the tale - unscathed, even.

The last three generations of Swalestroms had fathered at least two sons, and the way was always clear. The elder would inherit the Southard possessions, and the younger would serve as an unofficial viceroy of Dravania. It only took a century until the whole system goes awry, with a Swalestrom cadet branch rebelling against King Gideon, and even an otter who nearly called himself King of Dravania. It is but an empty title at best, but it is beasts that honour titles, and not titles that honour beasts. As long as the otterpup does not call himself king, the situation in Dravania can still be settled peacefully. With the Stalwarts and Strandsors guiding Thordan's paws though, there was little hope. Godred, being able to outrank his brother, will cause few problems at home.

Loud footpaws entered Becker's tent, carrying an otter just as large as his pride. Lord Lorents Rueford has not drink much wine in particular (as opposed to Becker), so Becker felt safe to bring him along on campaign.

"Have you heard? Your nephew had made Alfyn Stalwart Lord of Meraholmer." Lord Rueford said with a smile.

"Really? Alfyn Stalwart? I thought that he would appoint some Dravanian native. I suppose Trielians do enjoy the pomp and ceremony."

"Well, Lord Becker, there was no such thing. The Regent made Stalwart Lord under a tree, or at least that is what the Kaldosians say."

"A tree? Really?" Becker nearly laughed aloud. "Well, for a Trielian, Thordan's humble enough."

"Too bad Somered doesn't share this trait. I'm afraid the only thing that would teach him who's King of Southsward will be with cold steel."

Becker laughed. "Mayhaps we should allow him three guesses? With that small brain of his, the Deilart just cannot remember names that clearly."

The laughter soon faded as the two otters' conversation turned to more serious matters. "How's Joar?"

"He'll be fine. I had assigned some new guards for him, and he responded to his mission with quite a bit of enthusiasm."

"He will succeed. I can assure you of that. At least, that's what my mind is telling me."

The two sat in tense silence for a while - a silence which Becker soon broke.

"How about more wine?"

"Great Seasons, Becker, you know I can't handle the bottle well." From Lord Rueford's silence emerged a smile.

"You know I don't need to."

* * *

**TARALIS, BALSAMU, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA**

Godred was welcomed by the lords of the Valeran League, but seemingly nobeast else.

Well, at least the League's 'lords' were welcoming him to their greatest abilities. Guido Aldabreschi was considered a living legend, with him being able to withstand the full might of Parma and all that.

The Valeran League's very purpose is to stop Parman expansion in its tracks, and its job seemed to be done with their victory over King Thordan, himself a figure of legends. Conceived in the reign of King Thordan the First, the League stalled Parman (or more accurately, Otharnese) influences from leaking into Ilsadia. After getting his army crushed in Valda almost a century prior, Thordan the First planned a compromise that the League would obey Parman will while being virtually independent, having possession of local jurisdiction and 'the right of kings themselves', whatever that meant. Of course, Lord Guido's ancestors intentionally let the phrase be worded _very _vaguely to make their rights seem as great as kings, but Guido took them in a vastly different direction.

Previous Kings of Parma are always Kings of Otharn who recieved a second coronation in the ruins of Old Parma, which empire reached from Mossflower to Vysparn. However, Guido used the League's 'rights' to elect their own King of Ilsadia, which in this case was Godred Swalestrom. After all, if Godred goes to Old Parma before anyone else, it would be Otharn's time to kneel before Ilsadia for the first time in six centuries.

However, Guido had his enemies, whether if they wanted to actually _be _his enemies or not. Niels Crestworth had declared himself King of Otharn but days ago, and Lorelei Skyward would have her own candidate - most likely one of her sons.

Ah, Lorelei. One single mention of the otter's name was able to send Lord Guido into the deepest of rages. Hatred for the Skywards ran deep in the League's veins, and this hatred extends towards all of that bloodline, even if they did not carry the name.

Corrado Truetide could be pinpointed as the one single beast Guido wants to drop dead the most. Him being heir to his paternal half-brother's property meant that the League was now isolated geographically by a single beast that had (incredibly good) reasons to hate them. As for Thordan Swalestrom, all that Godred could say was that he was in for a terrible fate if their fates ever crossed again. If Godred had no sword on him, he would simply use his knife, and if even that was not available, then he would crush Thordan with his teeth. Though Sigurd should not have died at Godred's paws back at Hildrinn in what had seemed like decades ago, Thordan would not be able to run from his fate like his sister did. He would die a quick death as seen in the likes of his brother - a traitor's luxury.

Guido's attendents bore with him a specific crown. The crown of King Istvan had been worn for generations of Jaysian kings, and Godred was never one to break tradition. The coronation had to be held in Ingolpart Shrine and be performed by the Palatine of Jayso, but Godred would be in Ingolpart in no time, with somebeast (like Raimon of Aldernan) could put the crown atop his head.

To be honest, Aldernan was a hard ally, with his whole realm being overrun with Parmans and all that. Raimon's sister is currently the best match for almost all eligible noble otters, with the exception of Godred's own sister. Rumour has it that Lady Beatritz was close to marrying two other lords aside from Godred himself, one of them being his half-crowned cousin, the other being Sverker Crestworth - the same beast who worked himself out of his prior betrothal to Bellamy.

Perhaps Lord Valdemar had a desire to play it safe, with him trying to rule Parma through his uncle and all that. After all, neutrality is an easy bet for the Kings of Parma, with them smiling and grinning, watching the action unfold across Obring Strait and The Sound.

But then, a decisively anti-Parman army _had _assembled on the island of Balsamu, where the rulers are more like chiefs than lords. The island itself used to be split into five parts, but of the five only two were left, the peace between them being kept by the League, and hence, Godred.

Of course, being crowned King of Balsamu was a contingency plan, but this chance of using Guido's little backup plan is rising day by day. The wind refuses to change, leaving the Valeran host trapped on a weird, mountainous island where water supplies were lacking.

In effect, they were basically a beached whale, yet on a much, much larger scale.

* * *

**VARGO, LORDSHIP OF VARGO, KINGDOM OF OTHARN, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA**

"Let me get this straight," Palatine Corrado stared straight at his mother. "While you were off into the mountains enjoying yourself, Niels, of all otters, just got a crown on top of his head, and the Hellgates League just pops up in Balsamu?"

Queen Lorelei had raised both of her sons to be strong. While Thordan's had failed, Corrado's had _backfired_ in a manner most spectacular. He was one of three individuals who could stand up to her, the other being Old King Thordan and the mysterious Isangrim who cannot seem to afford himself some attention.

Ah, Isangrim. From the moment he bonded Lorelei, the otterwife had started to make him suffer, unintentionally or otherwise. It helped with managing him, though it was some sort of (admittedly, very) petty revenge for doing that to her without permission. Besides, it was good to see the fox be out of commission after her wedding night with Erlend. He managed to get himself (and by extension, her as well) all too drunk two days later, as some sort of retribution.

Aside from the circumstances from when they first met, and all the misadventures that they had since then, they managed to build up some sort of professional relationship. They were not friends, of course, but Lorelei had begun to see Isangrim as a part of herself, if only a bit more on the ignorant side. It also helped that Lorelei was not the first 'insane dragon queen' that Isangrim had served - at least that was what he claimed. He and Matoya had always had a superb relationship, though she passed when he was all too young.

"Mother?" Corrado's strong voice shook her back to reality.

"Ah, yes. Niels was a mistake, but while Valdemar has Niels by his side, I have you." Lorelei smiled at her son. Corrado Truetide may have been a thorn in her side at some times, but here he was useful.

At least, that was what Lorelei had convinced herself.

"I do not think so, Mother." The otterlord spat out the last word as if it was some phlegm stuck in his throat. "I have no intention of being king."

"But why?"

"I have no intention of being a puppet. As you might know by experience, I am not Thordan, and I have no wish at all to be made into him."

"And give up a crown?" Lorelei realised her mistake too late. 'Never be smug' was never in the rules of diplomacy, but Lorelei keeps falling into the holes she had dug herself.

"Yes. Let Crestworth beggar himself bribing electors. Once we worm our way back into Niels' favour, we shall surely have the upper paw. On the other paw, we have Godred Swalestrom on Balsamu, waiting for the wind to change while we do nothing."

Lorelei was quite aware that her own son was trying to change the subject from right under her snout, but the young Swalestrom was a problem."Godred is nothing but a spoiled pissant who is better suited to wear a cap than a crown. His allies will surely tire of him sooner or later."

"Corrado, he has your son's crown! Gates, you have no sense of timing, do you not? He wants to usurp your son's place, and probably yours and mine as well, not to mention Aldabreschi whispering orders into Swalestrom's ear every two seconds!"

The young otterlord walked towards a door. "I am aware that Godred poses a danger, and I have formulated a strategy well enough to defeat him once and for all. In the meantime, there is someone I want you to meet."

With a mighty pull the door opened, revealing a young vermin. Lorelei expected Eduard, the spoony bard that he was, but the figure proved otherwise. His armour had no place for a bard, and his sword was too expensive for one anyway.

The weasel knelt in front of the otterqueen while Corrado continued to speak. "Mother, this is Arn Skulason, leader of the Southpaws Band of mercenary vermin. I assume you had met his brother Egil in Ravesvakt, had you?"

* * *

**ORIENCE, DUCHY OF DEILART, KINGDOM OF TRIEL**

With her two brothers both going to war, Vega had enough to worry about.

Admittedly, Orience was a beautiful city with wonderful beasts living in it, not like the dour and dank swamp castles of Burelas. With the city becoming more and more mercantile, different sorts of beasts began to crowd in, even without the Southards. Dark-furred Ilsadian appear in a street, and across a block you can see Valnainers with their cheerful gazes. Borellers with their stone-stoic faces and native Trielians lived side by side, often advertising their wares in the loudest of ways possible.

But no beast was as strange as Lady Morag. With an overabundance of brothers (two is actually a lot), Vega never realised how much she needed company of a more familiar sort. Morag served as a surrogate sister to Vega in her time in Orience. Where Vega was quiet and preferred the attention of her kin and friends (and nobeast else), Morag was boisterous and reaped attention like farmers did with wheat. Her father and uncle were both fed up with her antics, especially those involving the vermin that she owned.

Despite not understanding each other, the pair got along like they were born from the same mother (which, of course they were not). The Boreller maiden was the only squirrel able to keep Morag down for more than a second, and the Deilarn gave Vega some sort of vitality she was not born with.

"So your younger brother just went to get a Captain and drag him back to justice? How heroic of him! It's just like the knightly tales of old!"

Vega shook her head. "Denebas had read too much of them back in Burelas, I fear. This is just foolish and nonsensical! Leaving everything behind to go after one person? That's just silly!"

"Ah well, your other brother's a bit more sensible, I hope. He's one of King Garmund's most trusted creatures. You know, Randyll of Limse being shady as usual and my father being, you know."

"Well, just a teeny little bit, I think. Let's hope he actually does something important."

* * *

**SORLANN, LORDSHIP OF SVARTEMYRR, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD**

"Wait. They are actually real." King Somerled's brows furrowed at the thought. "They are real, and not tales used to frighten little children."

"Cor-rect!" Amalrik laughed with his ever-present cheerfulness and liveliness - traits that Somerled never possessed, though his daughter did. "And you're one of them! Lucky you!"

Somerled's eyes widened almost to the size of grapefruits, earning a surprised stare from Amalrik and his stoat bodyguard. The stoat never spoke to him, and somehow carried himself like a noble did, with the two-pawed longsword and all. Pathetic. All vermin were not good enough for titles and riches, but Parmans just _loved_ to mess with the existing state of affairs, did they not?

"Tell me, healer, gambler, or whatever. What can I do with such 'outlandish abilities' that I possess somehow?"

'Well, you can sense the weather, for starters." The otter rubbed his cards.

"Or you can just look up." The stoat remarked, saying his first sentence in what seemed like eternities. "Saves the time and energy."

Before Somerled could slay the vermin for his insolence, the otter continued to speak. "Or you can just create rainstorms, or make trees and crops grow faster."

"Enough! Anything useful?"

"Well, you can create winds as big as a few hundred spans. Care for a demonstration?"

"Well yes-" The red squirrel barely finished his order before the entire tent the three was in was suddenly flung into the air, all while the otter grinned diabolically, while the squirrel and the stoat just stood there with mouths agape.

"I know now." The stoat simply said. "I know why the tales are told."

Somerled wanted to say something, but failed as the tent collapsed on him. When he awoke, Amalrik was there, with a faint glow in his paw.

'Ah, I see that you're awake. Mostly - whatever," the otter smiled gently - or at least he attempted to. "Healing is also an ability us Conjurers have as well, if you did not know. As you may know, vermin can destroy stuff better than woodlanders, but us Conjurers are always there to restore the damage they do."

"So we cannot just breath out fire? Or just explode Southards into little bits?"

"Apparently not. But our healing abilities surpass theirs by about tenfold." The otter smiled like a fish seeing bait on a hook, but with no fisherbeast reeling it in.

"What can healing do?" Somerled raged as he threw a chair at the stoat, which he dodged. "I mean, vermin get the powers that are needed in a war, while we get the agricultural ones? It's just not how things work!"

"Anything short of death can be healed," the otter said. His smile soon faded away, leaving only an almost morose look - a first for the otter. 'But death is nothing to fear, for salvation is at paw."

* * *

**A/N: Finally! Another chapter done, and the last I have done before the opening of a new school year. Now, we see these responses…**

**Sebias: Finally you get that reference! How long I have waited... Rathor is from The Chains that Bind Us, and I am glad you like Jade's character! (He's one of the best badgerlords to ever appear in fanfiction, and I don't think I am worthy to write him...) I am not proud of that parley scene, but Lorcan needs his moments in the limelight. As for the battle, you have one week to wait - it's the darkest chapter I have written for a reason.**

**Grey: Egil and Alfyn not killing each other? Yeah, cause for celebration enough. As for Rathor, won't you be surprised when someone wants to get your most precious possession, an ancestral weapon, and asks to sleep with it? You'll be shocked as well. The Wheel of Time books inspired me a lot when creating this system, and you'll see what they can do all too soon. Pressuring is a really good ability to have when you dabble in politics, and Lorelei isn't exactly ethical with her use of magic... And you'll get more seer gatherings. That's a promise.**

**We get to see a chapter without Thordan and company - the first in a very long time. Just some random piece of useless trivia! Don't worry though! They'll be back soon - alongside another missing presence!**

**Chapter 25 (**_**Steel Reason**_**) will be up on 25/26 September!**


	25. Steel Reason

**Steel Reason**

* * *

**BERSTRAATT, LORDSHIP OF SVARTEMYRR, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD**

It is said of disaster that it descends like a pile of bricks. Berstraat was hit by one of these, though it was more like a sledgehammer than a pile of bricks in nature.

Of course, when Denebas and his band entered the village, he had no way of finding out until he met with the survivors.

"Can you tell me calmly what they did again?" The squirrelord knelt in front of a sobbing mouse. An army had passed there, that was quite evident. Building that had once stood for tens of seasons had been razed to the ground, their inhabitants either slaughtered or left homeless. Their only consolation was that winter had just passed, and freezing to death was unlikely.

"The soldiers," the civilian managed to stop a sob. "They ransacked the whole place. They killed my brother… His only crime was to defend our home!" Just like that, he broke down fully and completely, tears freely streaming from his eyes, crumpling against the wall in a heap.

Denebas had had enough. He exited the room with all the subtlety of a raging badger, and turned to his squadron. "We're leaving, but not together."

Murmurs quickly erupted from the six. The journey from Bleswyn to here took quite a long time, twenty and seven days to be exact. "What do you mean by that?"

"You all know what happened here."

The band nodded and another squirrel spoke up. "Permission to speak, your lordship."

It was the noble squirrel's turn to nod. "Go on, Valdas."

"Somerled. Hard to believe that our side is the one doing all the destruction and pillaging."

"That's why you will be staying here." Denebas sighed. "This is not the first time a Trielian army crossed the range, but to have crossed into Dravania? The folk here can hardly comprehend war - Dravania had been Southard for a century. You here, all of you will help them out. Somerled's marching to his death right now, so he won't disturb us. Help build back houses, buy food, tend to the sick and wounded, the usual." Seeing the confusion on his team's faces, the squirrel added quickly, "You'll all get triple pay for that."

Valdas was more concerned than in a celebratory mood. "But," he sighed. "Your Lordship, I am more worried about you than we are ourselves. As you might know by now, we have grown to be loyal to you more than anyone except your brother. I don't know what might happen if you go after Waycaster alone."

"Just do not worry and you all will be fine - and so shall I." Denebas smiled as he slung his pack over his shoulder. "May your hearts and minds guide you forth."

* * *

**HOLMINSTER, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD**

Erlend must have been the unluckiest fool to ever live. Everything actually went well for the Southards - a first.

At first, Lord Garrion had no way to stop the Trielian advance into Southsward. King Garmund of Triel was obviously no Somerled - he had experience and talent. But an army ran on its stomach, and it was the idea of some lowly Otterguard Captain who decided to use scorched earth tactics on the host.

When Erlend returned to the Garmund's host, he was all too aware of the situation he was in. Beasts were complaining left and right, and Erlend had to haul a few attempted deserters back to camp. They could count themselves all too lucky - Garmund would see fit to behead them one by one.

He had embraced King Garmund as an equal, both of them being kings, though Erlend was one by marriage and Garmund born one. What was more important was that they were not merely liege and vassal anymore, but more like a pair of brothers. Of course, Garmund's brothers died as infants and Erlend's life would have been much easier if Becker had bothered to follow suit.

"Keep the king safe! Don't let him come to harm!" The otterking gestured at Duke Altayras, and set off into the camp. Erlend was not like Becker at all - he would fight at the front of his beasts. After all, there was no better way to keep morale high.

Everything was on fire - a Southard ploy to create more chaos. No Trielian could be spared the indignity of having their camp raided and burnt down. _How had this even happened?_

Erlend began to recall. Was it true that somebeast from the enemy wormed his way into the kitchens to scout? It was not logical, though. That somebeast would have poisoned every beast of rank before absconding, and Erlend was strangely grateful that that did not happen.

It had to be the strange otter in an oversized Trielian uniform then. He avoided questions and just looked at friends. Erlend had assumed that he was an idiot, one who did not know his place in the army, but the truth was simply much, much worse.

Erlend flung himself into a Sword-sworn squirrel, his simple guisarme rending through uniform, sinew and bone with one simple strike, carefully blocking of another attack in the same movement of his weapon. It was no Heavensward, but it was good enough for the otter.

To be fair, Erlend missed his weapon. Forged from starborne steel and tempered in blood, the spear was a wedding gift from King Thordan of Parma. To be fair, the old otter was a better friend than a father-in-law, but Erlend was almost as loyal to him compared to King Garmund.

After all, who didn't like the King of Parma? Thordan was a gentle, noble soul, but capable of great sorrow and greater mirth. A pity he did not have any son to continue his legacy, though two grandsons shall suffice.

Corrado Truetide was to be heir in all too many of the late king's possessions, yet somehow he and Erlend shared a disdain for the prospect of occupying the Parman throne. Being only months older than Sigurd (Seasons rest his soul), Corrado reminded Erlend of him, despite the young otterlords never having met. After all, Lorelei needed somebeast strong enough to defend her claims and rights, and Erlend was not interested as he should be.

Young Thordan was even worse off in this regard. He shared his grandfather's love of learning and skills in healing, and his sister's capacity for kindness and selflessness, and his father's loyalty to his liege, but he had nothing in common with his mother or both of his brothers. Of that Erlend was certain. Lorelei's methods of toughening his child up had unwittingly created an atmosphere of intimidation and terror, and he was more timid and unsure of himself than ever before. His stuttering got worse as well.

When Erlend received information that he was to be Dravain King, he doubted it, and would much rather it be proven to be falsehoods. Only the confirmation of King Garmund, his old friend, did he believe. Thordan, a king? The lad did not have the strength to harm his foes physically, nor the will to harm them. Instead of keeping the realm safe, perhaps Thordan should look after himself a bit more.

Erlend screamed as another Otterguard fell to his spear. He would have to give his brother credit for the tactics that he had used. Organising it all required the makings of a military genius, able to attack, mobilise and defend at will, and not constrained by times and circumstances.

But Becker was not capable of such acts - this had to be the fruit of somebeast else's mind. Garrion? No. Not his nephew who knows all of running a realm and nothing else. Godred could have been a better choice, but he was off in Parma trying to make Parma free of Parmans. To put it in the simplest of terms, he would have no luck.

But who was responsible for this scheme? Perhaps it was no noble at all. Ralos? No. He would not pull any scheme with the slightest possibility of risk. He could reason with Trielian steel, but not against his own fears and worries.

Before long, all three of his enemies fell before him. He had no time to mourn anyone, friend or enemy alike. He had a king to save.

"I will fight to the end with my troops!" It was the king's voice, loud and clear. Though the flames and the fumes meant that nothing can be seen clearly under his helm, Erlend knew where his liege was now.

"My liege, you must retreat from the battlefield now, or risk losing your life!" Erlend had never seen Altayras that nervous before, and he still has not. But the raspy voice was just as unmistakable as their king's.

Erlend leaped over a burning pile of wood and quickly cut down an unsuspecting Southard, his last cry resembling more of a choking sound. Before long, he was with the two. They were fighting side by side to the exit of the camp, Landwaker and Heavensward in their paw. Garmund's axe having been stained with blood and gore, and Erlend's old weapon was in a similar state.

Every eight steps, there was an abandoned weapon of a soldier, dead, deserted or captured. Every five steps, there was some lost appendage lying on the ground, or feeding flames the Southards had started, wittingly or not. And every two there was a corpse. Red-uniformed Otterguards and Swordbeasts in blue were lying on the ground, surrounded by red and yellow clad Trielians, as if they were merely asleep. But the marks they bore - slit throats, arrows piercing bodies, burn marks and more - demonstrated that the circumstances of their 'sleep' was far from tranquil.

_It was exactly like the legends the skalds had sung about the world's end. Brothers had fought and killed each other, and axes and swords rend shields apart. The world has been swept in a whirlwind, and mercy shall be known as a thing of the past. Thank you, Becker, for all that you have done for the world. Really. Your children would _love _it._

"Erlend!" King Garmund waved his paw. It took another few leaps and a few Southards dispatched before the otter joined him.

"You must leave! Now!" This was the first time Erlend raised his voice at his king, and it might very well be the last.

"Bother me no longer," the king groaned. "And save your own fur!"

Erlend knelt. 'I am loyal, but if you do not flee now, I shall obligate you myself!"

The king took a deep breath (which was not easy, considering the flames), and conceded. Altayras turned away from the fleeing mouse, but Erlend was having none of it.

'Go with your king."

"But-"

Erlend silenced him by reaching for Heavensward. The two shared a tense silence, while Garmund took his leave and the Southards closed in slowly. "Pretty little thing, is it not?"The squirrel nodded, earning a smile from the otter. "Use it well. Become one with it." A pat on the shoulder, and the squirrel also departed.

_Seems like I have nothing else to do… better do something Becker would have been proud of. After all, he can still talk about it long after I'm gone._

The otter turned towards the encroaching army. "I am Erlend, King of Garlesca, Duke of Thavnair, Lord of Kaldos, and father to the Regent of Dravania. None of you rabble shall pass!"

A mocking voice (with Erlend's accent, even) erupted from the leader of the enemy troupe. The red-clad Otterguard clearly had some position of note. "Well, I am Captain Galen Snowpath, and you can go snuff it! The exit is that way, you pompous little-"

The other otter could not finish his sentence, as Erlend rushed toward him. Guisarme at the ready, he struck right as Galen parried his blow, his sword shattering into a thousand little pieces with the impact.

Before Erlend could finish off the downed otter, a hedgehog seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Throwing himself right at the otterlord, he managed to stall for enough time for Galen to draw his dagger and slash.

Of course, that did not work. Erlend's armour was made by the best of the best, and this body was unscathed. A gauntlet to the face quickly rendered the hedgehog unconscious, and the otterking soon stood up to face his challenger, now armed with only a dagger, once more.

A voice rang out from the back. "Abon!" It was another otter, a captain as well, but of Sword, as evidenced by his blue uniform. 'Abon' was not as much of a battle cry as much as worry for his incapacitated friend - the one who had a large bleeding dent within his head.

Erlend barely had time to kick Galen away before he had to avoid an axe coming at him. The Sword captain was no inferior to Galen, but he seemed to have the advantage of surprise with him. Not to mention the fact that this newcomer was obviously fresh, while Erlend was tired from all the killing.

Not just the ones that had perished in this. All their kin dead, Bedric and Sigurd Swalestrom included, and some of the beasts Erlend had led to war before. They would never see their families again, yet Erlend would simply be ransomed to fight again. This would not stand.

"By Great Seasons, a Dravanian spearbeast shall never run from battle!" He lifted his polearm and swung, intending to pierce his attacker's heart. But this one simply sidestepped his attack, and slammed the edge of his axe into Erlend's side.

Erlend held a scream in his throat. This wound could be fatal, even with treatment. After all, his armour was too light for a proper knight. The Dravanian otter had forsaken sturdiness for mobility, and now he paid the price.

Then Galen plunged a dagger into his knee.

Erlend screamed. The pain was too much for the otter, and all his warrior training seemed to fail him. Flailing around with his spear did no good in crushing his foes, and soon he fell into the ever present grasp of unconsciousness.

* * *

**SALAMANDASTRON, LORDSHIP OF SALAMANDASTRON**

The world of dreams is a wondrous place. After all, anything could happen in a dream - including meeting mighty badger lords of the past.

"Who are you, mole, and for what do you intrude upon our slumber?"

Arbert spent a day and a night training for all this, so he quickly found the correct answer. "I am Arbert of Floret, and I seek answers and guidance from your wisdom."

The first lord stepped up his voice. "Do you know who we are?"

"You are the Badger Lords of Salamandastron, Protectors of the Shores."

The ghostly badger nodded. "So I see you know us more than you know your own fate."

The mole nodded. "This is indeed the case."

"Though we would have welcomed your learned brother more, we will impart our words on you, and you shall leave a wiser beast."

An older badger drifted to the mole. Clothed in green from top to bottom, he wielded a massive broadsword that was even larger than Verminfate the Augmenter. "I am Lord Brocktree, friend of hares and bane of hordes. Hear my advice, Arbert. You will head to a place of cold and death, woodlander and vermin both at your side."

The first badger soon faded, only to be replaced by another badger, this time in yellow, with a bird by his side - a kestrel. "I am Sunflash, called the Mace by friend and foe alike. "You will go to the Castle, for the betterment of friend and brother. If this is not the case, the Recorder shall perish, alone and by paws wrought from thunder and darkness."

Arbert suppressed his questions. He was not supposed to interact with those figures, lest they reject him. A third badger appeared, this time holding a ghostly imitation of Verminfate that could just as easily pass as the real thing.

"I am Lord Rawnblade Widestripe, bearer of the sword and defender of the bell." Arbert knew this one - Joseph the Bellmaker knew him before his journey to Southsward, and wrote fondly of him in his memoirs. "Beware of those who have returned - those who have perished by your actions, but whose wills lingered, poisoning beasts, nations and worlds with words and deeds."

A fourth and fifth leapt out, one being clad in armour the colour of gold, the other being white of fur all over that no trace of black can be found. The voices said in unison. "We are Urthstripe the Strong and Urthwyte the Mighty, twin guardians of the Western Shoreline."

The gold one spoke first. "Go to the place where past and future meet, and quickly so! Go to the first Abbey! Go to Loamhedge!"

"If you do not go, you will have sidestepped your fate," the white badger spoke in a mournful tone. "You will surely perish at the paws of those who do not want to see your fate fulfilled by flame and sword alike."

The two spoke in unison. "Meet the enemy there, but fight the fox not. Speak!"

More badgers rose from the ground, earning a surprised gasp from Arbert. A lord in blue clothes, carrying an axe showed his face. "Blood shall feed blood." Then all faded into white.

_Two otters, taller than all those Arbert had seen before, swung their swords in perfect synergy, but the vermin the blades were seeking avoided one and parried another with his black dagger._

A badgerlady in red, with both eyes having been blank, but blood and fury seemed to leak out with every second passed. 'Blood shall call blood."

_Lightning rained on the army clad in blue, and while the grey vixen directed flows of aether, as vermin and woodlanders were five, but one._

A badger in robes of a denizen of Redwall Abbey, with a knowing look and a kind smile, which faded when he saw the mole. "Blood was, and blood is."

_The Trielian king stood and the fox knelt, in dread and panic, as the Juska were to have their hopes, both genuine and falsified, dashed to pieces by each other._

A scarred badger with a large bow held in one paw, a quiver hung behind him, and he had his lust for vengeance sated long ago. "Blood shall ever be."

_The King of the Peasants guided his staff carefully, blocking a sword strike and hitting his assailant's chest, while clipping his brother's ankle._

A badgerlord whose eyes were tired from reading, who had the glare of one who had made a great discovery. "Death shall sow and winter burn."

_The dancing shadows forsake their mortal coils and become one in body as well as in mind. "I am become you," the first shall say; and the second shall answer, "and we are become one!" Light and darkness radiated from them both._

Yet another boar glad in yellow, but with a mark of flame atop his head, and who had some capacity for controlling himself at the best and worst of times. "The Lord of Chaos shall come with spring."

_Within the circle of darkness stood the Seeker of the Stars, seeking to drag a warrior's light into the abyss with himself, ignoring his own tears as he sunk into what he thought was his short but sure demise._

A badgermaid, younger than all that have walked before her emerged at last, with a book in her paw and a motherly gaze. "Great Seasons save us all from him."

_The rat darted through the streets of Floret with his weapon in both paws, seeking the beast who was responsible for his death, his eyes burning with blood and rage all the way._

With a lurch, Arbert leapt awake, blankets falling off his makeshift bed and Verminfate clattering down onto the ground. Remembering where he is, Arbert sighed in relief, as he picked up the sword and embraced Conjuration. Within the span of a second, a Pathway reared its head with the middle of chamber.

_Dagbert would have to know all about what the badgers said, but he would be too busy in the meantime, having to deal with politics and all that. I should remain here until his job is done._

The Pathway was closed with a motion of the paw, but it shall surely open in the near future.

* * *

**A/N: Ah, another chapter at the end of the month! That usually meant that this is my favourite chapter of the month, and that is for good reason. Oh, and this chapter means that half of ARR is uploaded!**

**Review responses!**

**Grey: Yeah, that was not a particularly good chapter, but I am glad you liked some parts of it. I don't intend to develop Arn too hastily - he doesn't appear so often, and his real impact needs time to set up. I am glad you liked Corrado's 'entrance' (he appeared in Under the Weight). Standing up to Lorelei is something only he could do... About Vega and Morag, you will see them more and more often. And yes, Somerled, Amalrik and the stoat seem like the stereotypical 'two woodlanders and a vermin' comedy show. Oh, and about vermin having cool toys? Well, the problem is more with Somerled compared to Conjuration, but he doesn't know that. ;)**

**Sebias: I kinda see why you don't envy Thordan... imagine everyone in the Western Hemisphere talking things about you. Ugh. The Valeran League is _not _designed to be a mafia group, despite the heavy usage of Italian references. They are a reference to the Lombard League in the 13th century. Oh, and Guido is legendary because he defied King Thordan and somehow won. Corrado! Everyone likes him! Time for Lorelei to be brought down a peg, hmm? And Arn! Woohoo! Though he only has a large role in Book III... Yeah the servants... Somerled couldn't care less though, because he's _Somerled_. **

**I originally wanted to put an Alfyn and Egil segment at the beginning, before Erlend and Arbert, but that quickly cut the pacing between two **_**very **_**serious moments, so I decided to add another grim segment in. Don't worry, you'll see A and E soon.**

**The Erlend segment was the closest thing to the original Jade TeaLeaf works I can ever hope to write. Dark setting, character focus on a single beast, and a short but simple fight scene. I'm rather proud of it, though nothing I can ever write can match her and her 7000-word long chapters.**

**Arbert's segment is full of visions, hmm? You can probably guess the badgers giving them out. They're all canon Badger Lords and Badger Ladies!**

**Chapter 26 (**_**Ever Upwards**_**) will be up on 2/3 October!**

**P.S. THANK YOU EVERYONE FOR THE 90 REVIEWS!**


	26. Ever Upwards

**Ever Upwards**

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**KALDOS, LORDSHIP OF KALDOS, KINGDOM OF DRAVANIA**

For the first time in five seasons, there was no one Thordan could trust near him. Alfyn had gone to take up the Raevsvakt defences, with Egil in tow. They will do their job to the best of their abilities, but Thordan still worried about them. After all, will the Islanders welcome a Trielian for the second time?

When Thordan was confirmed as Lord of Meraholmer, the Islander vermin were fearful of him - a Trielian lording over them all was a horrible portent for what is to come. Thankfully, Thordan won the hearts of his subjects fairly easily - with thanks to Canute Crestworth's blunder.

But Alfyn and Thordan were different otters. He had bravery and will, but patience and savviness were beyond his reach. Thordan could only wonder if Egil would be able to hold him back, so as to speak.

But then, Egil was thebeast being held back during his friendship with Thordan. It was not over yet, though it had indeed hit a bump. Skuli Arnsson was a wily weasel, and he guessed that he would have wanted Egil to befriend him for some nefarious reason that only the merchant had any idea about.

Of course, Thordan found himself trusting Egil in the course of these five seasons. The weasel was one of the few beasts that were able to raise his spirits, and he was one of the few who can stop him from excessive foolishness in turn. After all, they had much in common, having one parent who was completely dominant with their life, and the other a distant figure.

Perhaps this was why they had bonded. After all, previous nobles had done so, though all of them had resulted in tragedy. Some kings even took vermin as lovers, much to the amusement of Lord Canute during Thordan's stay in the Raevsvakt bell tower. In the end, Thordan failed to convince the gloating oldfur that they were merely friends (and not sworn brothers or something) - though all that overheard him were either dead or regent of Dravania. Needless to say, Thordan favoured the former fate.

The gap that his friends' departure was filled by his sister. Sigrun had been attentive to his needs and wishes, though Thordan could not really decide on whether she can be trusted. After all, she had been the one to put the crown on his head, even though it may seem that his little fate worse than death had been delayed for a little bit.

Kinship did not help with the trust part. After all, his uncle's branch of House Swalestrom had indeed sided with their liege, while Erlend remained true to King Garmund. King Garmund. Who could say that he or she would know what was behind that stony face of his? He had been more expressive before his first wife's death, leaving behind two young sons and two daughters. Thordan liked them well enough, but their father would not be the same again. Queen Bertrada would have given birth to a child by now - enough months had passed for the pup to grow. This would not help Garmund though, as he was 'made of stone', or so Becker Swalestrom would say all too often.

Becker. He was coming to get Thordan now, he was certain. The kindly figure the young Regent had come to like was coming to wrench away all he was trying so hard to protect. His skills as a warrior were certainly fearsome, and Thordan will have a hard time fending him off. After all, every other Swalestrom was either a warrior or a maid - with Thordan being the odd one out, as was in any other circumstance.

The Southard otterlord will think that Dravania would be taken easily, and his train of thought has some truth in it. After all, the might of the Otterguard was not to be denied. The sacrosanct order of otters were born and bred to fight, and Thordan has blundered his way into being their next target. Thordan could only count on his fortifications to hold, and that another army could worm their way in.

Lorcan was still tied up in Doma - Sverker Crestworth was no warrior as well, but under his command were fierce Domans - Dravanians across the Sound, to the South of Meraholmer. It was hard to imagine that they were not Thordan's first problem, especially after they tried to seize Meraholmer from him just months ago.

In the meantime, the Garleans had not joined his father to war. After all, they were supposed to keep Godred Swalestrom within Balsamu. Guido Aldabreschi, that old enemy of his grandfather, had called Godred there. It was good for Guido that the Swalestroms were one of the few houses that still had more than one child. A younger son had to make a living somehow, and neither Erlend or Thordan were willing to give Dravania up for the next generation of Floret Swalestroms. Either that, or Godred was picked because he dealt with Hildrinn swiftly and effectively, with the opposing force losing half their beasts and their leader. Thordan ardently hoped that his mother would use Godred's own methods on him and his murine master.

"Everyone just seemed to want their own king nowadays," Thordan moaned, with only his sister listening to him. "Why can't everyone just leave me alone for a while?"

"Because you are a Swalestrom, and this is your duty, Thordan." Sigrun was always a calm beast, but seeing Thordan behave in such an 'bratty' manner unnerved even her. "My duty is to marry whoever you ask me to, for instance." In the latest generations of lutrine nobility, too few females were born, causing a general lack of marriage prospects. This had caused a multitude of problems, but that meant that Sigrun finding a husband would be much, much easier than Thordan finding a wife.

"I thought that was Father's decision." _And I expect you to think that as well. Gates. I thought that you can think more with more detail just because you were older!_

"It technically is," Sigrun smirked. "But you are the one in charge here. You are not an inferior of Father, being a king as well as he is." Strong Sigurd and genial Bedric may have left this world, and bravely so, but some things just remained the same.

"Exactly so." The two otters turned to see a third figure enter the room the pair were in. The black fox was familiar to Thordan, having met in Raevsvakt twice, and in Vargo all too many times beforepaw, but Sigrun's eyes squinted.

"Who in Great Seasons are you, vermin?"

"Isangrim, close confidante and spymaster of Queen Lorelei, at your service, King Thordan." The fox smiled, while. "How your grandfather must have waited for this day."

"He would be very proud when I _actually _become king. Now, he would just have to wait and see me attempt to squirm my way out of this mess." Thordan sighed. "I suppose he would have to wait a bit until then."

"Well, nothing is sure in these turbulent times, Thordan." Sigrun forced a smile. "All of us have no idea what is to happen next."

"Anyways, what tidings does Mother bring, Isangrim?" Thordan turned his head coldly towards the fox.

"Your mother congratulates you for your little promotion, of sorts. And she would like to offer some advice about marriage alliances and-"

"Is she here?" The otter fumed.

"No. You see-"

"She should be!" Thordan stopped pacing around the room and stared forward at Isangrim, causing the black fox to twinge. "I basically committed political suicide with all this Dravain business, and she does not even bother showing up!" Taking a deep breath, the otter sighed. "Do you intend to remain long?"

Isangrim nodded his head. "I think so. Queen Lorelei requested that I protect you until the war will be over."

"I understand." _Why do I get the feeling that you will be a greater nuisance than protector in these few days? _

But before Thordan could utter another caustic remark, Sigrun decided that the time for silence was at an end. "If you were supposed to be an associate of Queen Lorelei, where have you been in these few days?"

Isangrim laughed. "Ha! I've been on other missions, ottermaid, and all of them take precedence over mere politics."

"Please use her proper title, Isangrim." Thordan crossed his paws.

"Yeah, yeah."

"One affirmation shall suffice, fox." Thordan continued his glare.

"Whatever. Just watch over yourself. And your half-sister as well." Isangrim smiled as he sauntered off across a doorway. "Oh, and watch out for moles."

The mention of Dagbert seemed to have struck Thordan's mind. "Do not leave yet, Isangrim. Stay where you are."

The fox abruptly ceased his motion out of his room. "What now?"

"How did my grandfather die?"

"Well-"

"Tell me now, or I shall have you burnt alive in front of the whole court. After all, you can't just sneak into other people's dreams and expect no consequences at all, can you?"

"Wait," Sigrun's mouth started spurting out syllables. "The fox here has invaded your dreams before, and we knew nothing about it?"

The fox shook his head, and spoke. "Yes. I must confess that I had been beside Thordan from the very moment he was conceived, and I had entered the dreams of others before, Thordan included." The black-furred creature turned towards Thordan. "I had only the best of intentions when I invaded your privacy. Please forgive me."

"That will be done, of course, when you tell me about the circumstances of my grandfather's passing. All the details - everything that you know!"

The black fox sighed. "He was killed by a vermin whose identity we have no idea about. You see, both the vermin and Thordan were seers, so he entered the king's dream."

"King Thordan, a seer?" Sigrun failed to stop herself for the second time. "But the stories said that seers were all fake, and the ones that were real were evil beings hellbent on destruction!"

"Well, he was a Astrologian, to be exact." The fox grumbled. "It seems that I have to teach you about your true nature as well."

"My true nature?" The truth hit Thordan like a brick wall, which is not confused with Thordan walking into one. 'Wait. I'm a seer, am I?"

"Well, that was fast. You're already better than Hersent. Yep, you're one."

"So what can seers do? Do magic or something?"

"Perhaps Isangrim has a little deck of cards in his pockets, and could perform random acts of magic with them," Sigrun remarked. "After all, this befits a magician all too well."

"Well, you got me confused with King Thordan, Lady Sigrun." Isangrim put an emphasis on the penultimate word. "He was the one with the cards."

"What did Dagbert mean by Conjuration? Or something like that? I don't actually remember that much." The younger otter scratched his head. "You see, that was all too long ago."

"Well, Conjuration is but one of two aspects of Seercraft. Unlike Thaumaturgy, it is mainly used for healing and stuff. Well, it _is _woodlander stuff, and they can do no wrong, can they?"

"How did my grandfather use it? How did he train to use it?"

"He learned from the best, and only the best. I learned quite a bit from him too."

"I thought Conjuration, or whatever it was called, was only a woodlander thing. So how did you learn from King Thordan? As I recall, he was a woodlander." Sigrun's interest was piqued quite a bit, it seemed.

"Well, to use Conjuration is harder than to use Thaumaturgy, which is the other, more verminous type of Seercraft." Isangrim smiled. "Well, that's why I learned much faster than Thordan did."

"I still understand nothing." Thordan shook his head.

Isangrium sighed. "I take back the statement that you were better than Hersent. A comparison is needed." Stepping back a bit, the black fox recited what was passed down to him.

"You see, Thaumaturgy is like a grape. You put it in the palm of your paw, and clench it, and ta-da! You get grape juice." Quickly glancing at Thordan, Isangrim sighed with relief as the young otter nodded. "Good. You're not that dumb."

"But with Conjuration, everything is harder. Like getting juice from a spiky fruit from Vysparn. Some anananana thing."

"Like a melon?" Sigrun interjected.

"Yes. But sour. Anyways, it is hard and big, so one does not simply put it in one's paw. You have to get a hammer to break it, then squeeze it's contents out."

"What does that have to do with seercraft?" Thordan clearly had an interest in learning more - or he was simply tired of the fox. Either could be the case.

"Well, you cannot seize it the way you grip Thaumaturgy." Isangrim yawned, having explained this to someone else previously. "There's a block to Conjuration. Like a melon's thick skin. You need to seize it harder than Thaumaturgy. As hard as you do. You need something. An Amplifier or something." He looked straight at Thordan, who was clearly not concentrating at all. "Boy, do you still have those chess pieces that weasel gave you?"

"Yes, but they're inside my room. I have to walk a bit to-"

"Go get them. Now." Seeing Thordan's confused looks, Isangrim let loose a diabolical grin. "You shall see why."

"Understood." Thordan turned to exit the door when a voice rang out from the back.

"I'll go with you." Sigrun stood up, clearly not wanting to be left alone with a vermin. Isangrim may have been a close associate of Thordan's family, but Sigrun was not from the proper branch. Corrado Truetide may have better luck.

When they exited the room, Sigrun turned towards her brother. "I don't really trust the fox."

"Why?"

"He's just playing on your trust to do something he wants." Sigrun moaned. "He's vermin, Thordan, and he is different from your Egil in every way."

'_My _Egil?" Thordan's eyes widened. "Egil's his own beast! He's just one of my closest friends."

"Not close enough to prevent him from deserting you, apparently." Sigrun rolled her eyes. "Look closely, Thordan-"

Sigrun did not have enough time to eat her words after seeing Thordan's expression change.

"Get out of my sight immediately."

And she did.

Passing through a few rooms was not the hardest task Thordan had ever undertaken, nor was obtaining the pieces Egil gifted (or possibly _bribed_) him with. When Thordan went out of the room, he was greeted by none other than Haakon Strandsor.

"The Southard diplomats are to arrive later this day, my lord," he said in his dull voice.

"Thank you for the reminder." Thordan ran for Isangrim's room. "And I told you to just call me Thordan, did I not?"

When he returned, he was out of breath, and Isangrim was still waiting in Sigrun's chamber, with no ottermaid inside.

"Ah, I see you have returned." The fox smiled.

'We have to do everything fast," Thordan panted as he scrambled to get the pieces out. "What do you want with them?"

"Get the otterking piece, and hold it." Thordan mechanically obeyed the orders. "Now, concentrate on the piece. Reach out and grasp - not literally!"

Thordan closed his eyes, imagining a little void, surrounding the room and all two beasts in it. Very, very slowly, the void overtook everything. Windows built into the wall, a closet holding every gown a lady should possess, tapestries hung as little artworks for Sigrun's pleasure, the carpets on the floor - all consumed. Even the floor itself seemed to shrivel and turn black, collapsing into nothingness. Isangrim was the last to go, his black fur and caustic voice disappearing.

Then nothing happened. Not exactly nothing, but only the most attentive could spot the signs necessary. A little sensation crept up onto Thordan, causing his fur to stand up on their ends very, very slowly. Thordan did nothing as he surrendered to it.

Everything else was forgotten completely. From his last meeting with his father, to his argument with Egil, Sigrun leaving him, and then to Isangrim's every single order to him. All were cast off into the void surrounding him.

Then came the light. Within a slight second, Thordan could somehow feel the radiance emanating from his body. The void was gone, replaced by a warmness radiating into his very heart. Even his fur returned to normal.

The chess piece being wrenched away from his paws snapped him back to reality. The first thing that he saw was the black fox covering his eyes.

"Blimey, that was bright! I didn't know that you had the will to grip Conjuration so tightly! You did very well, Thordan. A bit too well, perhaps."

"I didn't grip it."

"What?" This was perhaps the only time Thordan had seen the smug fox shocked.

'I embraced it, surrendered to it."

"Oh." That was all that Isangrim could say. "I- I should return to Queen Lorelei immediately. I shall return to you soon after. Just wait in the castle."

The black fox searched his pockets and took out a little wooden box, then he made a gliding motion with his paw. Within an instant, the familiar environment of the Parman hills was right there, with Thordan's mother in it, talking to a grey fox that Thordan had never seen before.

But before Thordan could say anything, the fox was on the other side of the gate, and with no sound at all, the gate to Parma collapsed, leaving a very confused otter in his sister's room.

A familiar figure climbed out from the closet lying in the room, startling Thordan before he realised that she was none other but his sister.

"It is true," the ottermaid gasped. "The old tales are true."

Thordan panicked. "What did you see, Sigrun? Tell me!"

"I saw you holding something, then a burst of white light, then the fox stepping into nothingness. Did you see that as well?"

"Yes," Thordan shook his head. "I don't feel like myself for now - I should probably take a nap before the Southards arrive."

Sigrun did not stop him as he walked out of her room.

* * *

**A/N: My first single segmented chapter! I have never written one before - and will probably write no more of these... this was exhausting!**

**Review responses as follows, of course.**

**Sebias: I was never a fan of that opening line, but it's better than some others - I hope. The true consequences of war was one thing Jade could touch upon very, very well, and the best I could do was this. Bodvar and Denebas though... this may happen, or it may not. Depends on the circumstances. A battle! Erlend doing to die isn't impossible though - he may still perish of his wounds, or any other cause. Wisdom from long-dead badgerlords! I have to say that I regret making so many vague prophecies that may or may not seem obvious on a reread (once the sequels are done, of course). Oh, and Brocktree was the easiest to write - Grey would know why.**

**Grey: The standard Redwall hero - I may have somebeast reference it later on... oh, and about the 'doomed' bit? Anything could happen! Denebas isn't that young, but he is naive, and a stranger to the world of commonfolk. Is he too nice to survive though? Erlend... yes. Not dead yet, with emphasis on the 'yet'. Insight and action sequences are not exactly bedfellows, but I hope I handled the linking between them well. Altayras having Heavensward could be important - or it could be inconsequential. Who can know (but me)? Arbert and badger prophecies! I apologise for the vague wording and the general impossibility to guess what the events shown to Arbert are about, but I'm still glad you liked the scene. Cold and death... familiar, eh? And Sunflash's prophecy has something to do with TGW? Betterment of friend and brother? Come to think about it, it does sound like something from Seb...**

**Quite a lot has happened, has it? And even more is to come…**

**Chapter 27 (**_**Tumbling Down**_**) will be up on 9/10 October!**


	27. Tumbling Down

**Tumbling Down**

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**ARLEZIA, VALERAN LEAGUE TERRITORY**

No beast could have expected the fox's return, having just popped out from some random Pathway. He was supposed to be out in Kaldos, protecting Thordan Swalestrom from all that would harm him.

Of course, that does not mean that Hersent was not overjoyed. After all, Isangrim was the fox that had raised her since her childhood, and he was just as happy to see her.

"You're back!" the vixen smiled at her mentor, who was inconveniently absent for the past month. But the elder fox silenced her with a swipe of his paw.

"Your Highness, your son had just made a great discovery."

The otterqueen scowled. "Isangrim! Had I told you not to just appear from out of nowhere? I could have been at a meeting with all that political stuff going on. You were in luck that Corrado's with his bard!" She rolled her eyes. "Now what did Thordan do?"

"He found another pathway in which Conjuration is used!"

The room fell into silence. _Another pathway? Conjuration?_

"Thordan _embraced _Conjuration instead of seizing it. Instead of controlling it, he surrendered to it, and changed it from within!"

"How?" Hersent failed to suppress her surprise.

"I don't know. It's a woodlander thing!" The black fox turned to Lorelei. "Try it!'

Strapping Shadowbringers onto her paws, the otter grimaced. "You know full well that this may simply not work, don't you? I am not exactly one used to surrendering."

"Just do it," the fox rolled his eyes as Lorelei closed her own. "Banish everything from your heart and mind, and imagine the void just like you usually do." The fox quickly hid his own trepidation in order to assist Lorelei in her experiment. After all, the Bond they had shared can transmit the slightest of emotions.

"Is it just me, or am I doing nothing?"

'You're doing something, all right." Isangrim smiled as gently as he could, but there was still a hint of mischief in his tone. "Forget everything you thought you knew, and surrender!"

Lorelei's face was in a stone-stoic state, with no sign of anything. Hersent knew full well that the otter used Conjuration like she used Thaumaturgy, as if all the power and energy one used has to be gripped tightly in one's paw. But if Conjuration cannot be seized, then what else can be done to wield it?

Before long, the vixen knew. A burst of wind wrought through the room, sending Isangrim and Hersent flying into the wall. Only a lucky recall from Lorelei saved them from impact. But the furniture was not so lucky, being blown off course like ships, and almost everything was clattered next to the wall.

"It worked!" The queen smiled as she lifted up her paws, ignoring the dazed foxes at the other side of the room.

"Could you had just used an Amplifier?" Isangrim sat up, scratching his head. "Shadowbringers is simply overkill."

"What fun would there be if I used something less powerful?" The queen purred like a cat. "Besides, it's just that fun seeing you panic. It doesn't happen often, you know."

"So did it work?" Hersent chirped like a bird scared away by the aforementioned cat. "Did you embrace Conjuration?"

"I think I did, Hersent. Or something like that. You see, I've never tried anything like this. Surrendering to it was unthinkable before today, but it worked." She then rose to her full height. "Please give my thanks to Thordan, Isangrim. He has advanced my plans threefold. Watch over him, or I'll tell him to watch over you instead!"

"Can't I at least take the morning off?" The black fox groaned. "Thordan's off sleeping and stuff. You know that I'm tired when you're tired, and vice versa."

The queen was having none of it. 'You know that I can't deal with politics half-asleep."

"Who said I was sleeping?" The fox smiled as he stepped through the door - and almost ran into Eduard Muirsch. Seeing the surprised look on the bard's face, and the even more incredulous look on his otter companion's, Isangrim pulled a wise retreat.

Corrado Truetide's eyesight returned from the pile of broken furniture. "What just happened?"

The ottermum told a half-truth without batting an eye. "Renovations."

"Renovations? Really?" The otterlord laughed.

"Your mother has a strange way of telling her tales." The rat cooly closed his mouth shut as he left the chamber, unwilling to poke his muzzle into state business. Of all the vermin of the land, Corrado chose the easy-going, indolent bard as his companion. Of course, Eduard seemed more like a model for all vermin than other favourites of nobles. Young Thordan had picked a hyper-active weasel, and the less said about Lorelei's, the better.

"Anyways," the otterlord brought his mother's attention back onto more pressing matters. Our fleet is in full position to strike at Taralis, and the journey there will take six days and five nights, if the wind blows in the right direction.

Hersent rolled her eyes as Lorelei grinned diabolically for not the first time. 'Well, I am all too sure that the wind shall be on our side."

"I would not be so sure, Mother. War is party to many factors."

"Well, the more you have under your control, the better. I shall go and change into more flexible clothing." With that, the otterqueen left her servant and child, and sauntered out into a corridor.

Corrado turned to the grey vixen. "She's getting madder and madder by the second, hmm? Things could be tumbling down around her, and she could still think that she's on top of everything!"

Hersent gave a wan smile in return. "Though sanity has its advantages, sometimes madness is the only thing that works."

* * *

**SORLANN, LORDSHIP OF SVARTEMYRR, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD**

"No quarter for the false king!"

The army behind Somerled chanted this time and time again, adding to the king's embarrassment as he fled with his tail between his footpaws.

The battle started well enough for the squirrel, but he overcommitted all too easily. Flanking through a forest was too tempting an opportunity to pass, but he had no way of knowing Lord Lorents and his spearbeasts were lying in wait there.

This earned Somerled nothing but hundreds of casualties, and the collapse of his entire left flank. The centre and the right could not hold for too long, but Somerled was among the first to escape, with only four knives and a statue on his belt and nothing else to arm himself with.

Hiding in a nearby village would be impossible - he had burnt almost everything down in his army's methodical approach into Dravania, hoping to make his way towards Thordan's host in Kaldos. But Becker could not have that, could he? No, he just had to cut him off!

And Amalrik was gone - disappeared to who knows where! He said he was to accompany the stoat to pay a visit to a very specific noble - one whose name was not disclosed. Thordan Swalestrom, perhaps? Or his uncle, if Somerled did not pay him enough for his services.

But then, the otter healer did give him the Amplifier, which was rumoured to work wonders upon the world, starting from simple healing. Somerled was no healer, but he knew that these things held power over all life (though not death, to the squirrel's detriment).

The healer spoke all too vaguely about how it is used, but the little statue was one of five things that could help him get out of his mess. The sky was darkening over Dravania, but those blasted soldiers were intelligent to bring torches with them.

Somerled slowly slunk back from his hiding place in the copse. Exactly right into an Otterguard.

The poor beast could only offer a choked scream as a knifetip entered his groin, which failed to alert the nearby searchers. But the damage had been done. The Southards will soon realise that one of them was nothing more but a corpse now, and so he had to run. Fast.

Clutching the statue in his paw, Somerled concentrated, pouring his desperation, his hatred, his downright loathing against all who stood in his way - and successfully summoned a wind.

Well, it was more like a breeze than a full-on storm, but it was enough to turn a few tracker's heads. The squirrel quickly ran into the woodlands.

Of course, he took the opportunity to get hopelessly lost. He had never been here, and the sun was sliding westward down the horizon. _I am a squirrel of House Deilart, and I will survive. I am a squirrel of House Deilart, and I will live. I am a squirrel - _

The thought hit him like an iron gauntlet. He was a squirrel! A squirrel! Finding an oak tree with leaves aplenty, the noble started his slow ascent.

Somerled had climbed trees in his youth, and in his adulthood he did so once, but that was fifteen seasons ago. But he knew how his paws, both front and hind, would work to propel him vertically, and it took less than two minutes before he was halfway there.

He would not make it though, as he was quickly wrenched from the mighty oak by some force he could not see. Tumbling down from the tree, all he could see is a black mole clad head to toe in white - in dress too fancy for his station. No commoner could become an emissary to kings, after all.

He landed on the ground with a mighty crack. Something was broken - his hip, perhaps, or maybe his thigh? It did not matter. He was doomed either way.

The short beast quickly descended upon the fallen squirrel, and quickly pocketed the statue. Then, with the swiftest of motions, he jammed a dagger of Somerled's into the squirrel's throat.

Screams failed the king as he found himself unable to keep his eyes open. He was forced to close them, and he knew that they will never open again.

_I have failed you, King Garmund. This was not a fight you should have started._

Word shall leak out that Somerled, Duke of Deilart and called King of Southsward, accidentally stabbed himself while climbing a tree, while being pursued by enemy forces. Future generations shall remember it that way.

After all, history was written by winners of wars figuratively, and by Archivists in their books literally. Perhaps inconveniently for Somerled, his killer saw himself to be both.

* * *

**THE SOUND**

"Back to Ravesvakt, is it?" Alfyn made his move, playing his first pawn up, right into where Egil could capture it, which the weasel swiftly does.

"I guess so." To Alfyn, Egil was starting to prove himself a friend, though not on Thordan's level. After all, there was more to friendship than having the same benefits. "Beautiful town, is it?"

The weasel rolled his eyes as Alfyn traded his Runner for a Leaper. "_City_."

The otter shook his head. "Distinction without a difference."

A few more moves passed until Alfyn flung his Queen on the other side of the board, capturing a Pawn on the way. This set of chess Alfyn's, and it was bought from a trader residing in Kaldos. He was not new to the game, but Lord Stalwart needed a lot more practice. After all, even Thordan could defeat him not once, but thrice, each in different ways.

Alfyn rubbed his chin. "Nice move."

But Egil's mind was not on the chess game. 'How do you manage seasickness? I mean, otters can definitely stand a bit of water, but just how do you do it?"

"Hm, me? I just look into the horizon and hope that my sickness is gone. You should ask Thordan about it. He mastered seasickness by himself."

Egil looked to the horizon, taking the tall otter's advice. "Well, being a healer does have its advantages. His grandfather taught him well about who bodies work, though he had only studied woodlanders in detail. He can do first aid on me as well, if I keep myself still, of course."

"Is that even possible?" Alfyn smiled. To be fair, he could see why Thordan would have liked him. After all, the younger otter was a dour beast, and he needed someone, anyone, to lively him up. With Egil gone with Alfyn, how would Thordan even manage? SIgrun can help, of course, but nothing much could be done to help him until Egil, or somebeast like him arrived in Kaldos, and was not too obnoxious for Thordan.

"Yes, keeping myself still is all too possible, thank you very much." Egil grinned. That grin coming from a vermin usually meant that he wanted something.

"Can I ask a favour of you, Egil" Alfyn's smile faded into a scowl.

"What?" Egil's look became one of shock.

'Can you _please_ stop moving my pieces when I'm looking out to sea? I'm tired of you cheating." The vermin's head hung lower at Alfyn's discovery. 'Do you use this scheme on Thordan?"

'No." Egil sighed. "He simply chooses to lose the normal way." A grin suddenly appeared on the weasel's brown-furred muzzle.

"Besides, you _are _that big of a fool!" Egil spun out of the cabin, laughing madly all the way.

Alfyn sighed. _Vermin…_ "Hey, Egil! This time we're playing for real! No tricks and whatnot!"

"In a minute!" was the reply.

_Thordan, you must be the luckiest fool to over live._

* * *

**KALDOS, LORDSHIP OF KALDOS, KINGDOM OF DRAVANIA**

Walking out of the Pathway was easy enough for Isangrim.

After his little rest in Arleza, the black fox soon snuck back into the Aetherochemical Research Facility, carrying the news of the new method of Conjuration wielding.

Emetselk thought that this was why Arbert was able to momentarily overpower King Thordan in the Rift the last time they met. A likely suggestion, which would mean that the younger Thordan was not the first woodlander to discover Conjuration's alternate pathway.

But then, Isangrim never thought that a teenager would be the one to negate the Southards' advantage. That was still welcome, however, and all was well.

To be honest, a counter-push on Arbert would soon be a reality. After all, the moles are up to no good, yet they seemed to have done nothing lately. The word 'seemed' spoke volumes, as the two were always ready.

Then there was then the question of Thordan's killer. A vermin, he was, unless he had come from another Shard. Lorelei just could not wait for her to get his paws on him or her, yet patience is needed for every plan. After all, Emetselk needed time for his grand entrance into the Source.

"I see that you have returned, Isangrim." A familiar voice spread through the air. It was Thordan Swalestrom, who definitely expected him. He was sent to watch over the otter, after all.

"It did not take me long for me to leave your mother's company, smothering as it may be."

"The envoy is waiting, and we have - I mean _you_ have delayed for long enough."

"Well, tell that to your mother." Isangrim rolled his eyes. _Politics. How disinteresting. Thordan will walk out unharmed anyways. _

_It will be that simple - Joar Rueford, or whoever he was, will offer terms that Thordan will not accept, and he will storm out of the hall. Then Becker will come here and attempt to take the city, only to fail. Thordan _does _have a Thaumaturge on his side, and unless one of the moles was with Becker, Kaldos will stand._

"They told us to bring only one guard, and only two of them will enter the negotiation chamber. You will serve as mine for the time being. Nobody expects the random fox lying around here to be some seer."

"Thordan, with all due respect, I don't think their beasts would think that I am particularly mundane. You could have brought a woodlander guard, or even Egil perhaps, but some random black fox whispering into your ear? That would give something away."

"Aren't you supposed to have a disguise or something?" Thordan turned to the fox. "You are supposed to be a spymaster."

"Well, Lorelei does them for me. Veiling is a woodlander thing. Conjuration."

"So that would mean that I could do that for you!"

"Wait!"

Before the fox could react further, he felt the effects of Conjuration work on him. Thordan, ever eager to learn and try new things, was closing his eyes and clutched the chess piece just above his heart. Before long, Isangrim felt a warm wave silently rush up and drench him.

The vermin was no stranger to such waves - both the elder Thordan and his daughter had used it on him. But this, this was different. This healing wave was merely supposed to take away any malignant effects the fox might have on him - wounds or illnesses. However, Thordan seemed to have taken away his tiredness as well.

_That must explain why Thordan sent his grandson to learn healing. He must have a Gift!_

"Thordan, you're healing me instead of disgusing me."

"Oh." Within a blink of an eye, the sensations vanished. _Lorelei would be very proud of you._

With a crash, a door opened, and random otter blundered into the seers.

"I'm Bodvar, the emissary's bodyguard. One of them, anyways. Sorry, Lord Whatever… What's it again?" The newcomer faltered, clearly expecting a response.

Thordan nodded like a true noble would, despite Bodvar's lack of manners. "Swalestrom."

"Phaw! You're the beast that calls himself King of Dravania nowadays, aren't you? I expected somebeast taller. Well, I'm actually sorry t' disturb you and your vermin friend, but where is the nearest garderobe?"

"Go down the hallway and take the third left."

"Thank you!" With a wave associated with close friends and not mighty kings, he sped down the corridor like a hare does when he sees a feast in front of him.

"Weird little beast, isn't he? I expected you to lose your temper at any moment, being almost king and all that."

"A king is polite and is groomed well," Thordan recited by heart. "And my title is almost one."

Another beast ran into the room, this time in a more civilised manner. A herald.

"The envoy is ready, Your Lordship."

The two stood up, and walked up to the negotiation table. It took a total of two minutes, but they were there at last.

Sitting in front of them were a hedgehog clad in white - the speaker - and nobody else. Well, the bodyguard was absent, inside a restroom.

The doors were closed as all three took their seats. Chests of treasure surrounded them, carried by another otter and a mouse.

Thordan spoke first. "Who are you? You do not suppose that I can be bought, diplomat?"

"I see that you have changed a lot since the last time we met, Lord Regent Thordan Swalestrom. You have wizened up, so as to speak."

"I do not think that we have met. I do not even _know your name_!" The otter cried out as Isangrim reached for the box Lorelei gave him under the table. This hedgehog cannot be trusted.

"Well I am sure Emmeroloth remembers, does he?" The Veil broke as the hedgehog disappeared, revealing the familiar snout of a mole.

"You!" Isangrim was merely able to pronounce one syllable before _something_ curled across its muzzle, tying it shut. A glance to the left indicated that the same had been done to Thordan, and soon the two were floating up in the air, totally helpless. Isangrim fumbled for the Augmenter in his paw, only for it be wrenched away by invisible paws.

Dagbert immediately opened the box, only to find a smaller tin box that cannot be opened. tThat was his reward already, though he knew it not. "It is truly a pity that it has come to this, Thordan. I wanted to ask you to come to us willingly, but the whole Dravain business seemed to have stopped that from ever happening.

Within seconds, yet another coil of wind-rope surrounded Isangrim's neck, tightening before the gagged fox could form any coherent thought, crushing his throat. If his jaws were free, he would have howled for someone, anyone. _Lorelei! Emetselk! Matoya!_

Before his sight failed him and his sunk below, he saw Thordan's hopeless struggling come to an abrupt halt, the mouse down below gesturing at them, and Dagbert watching impassively, finally achieving the victory he had long hoped for.

* * *

**A/N: Ooh! A wham chapter! Review responses coming up!**

**Grey: Well... the pressure _is _certainly increasing for Thordan... especially after the events of this chapter. His friends and most of his family all left him alone, he's confused with all his otherworldly abilities, then this chapter hits... Well, an excess of exposition has to be replaced with a major kick to the progression of the plot (and an even more major blow to Thordan's psyche), shouldn't it? Well, the plot moves once more, to the otterlord's detriment...**

**Sebias: Sigrun's choices aren't many, and are lessened even more significantly after the events of this chapter. Her being the quiet beast that she is, she'll probably remain silent about it until it is time to reveal everything. Lorelei knows about this now, so Isangrim returns to Kaldos pretty quickly - only for Dagbert to hit. Speaking of which, poor, poor Thordan - he trusts _everyone_ \- and now he pays the price. Oh, and embracing Conjuration was discovered by Thordan, but the Southard seers beat him to it.**

**I've waited for this moment for quite a long time. That is all that should be said.**

**Chapter 28 (**_**The Tug of Fate**_**) will be up on 16/17 October!**


	28. The Tug of Fate

**The Tug of Fate**

* * *

**KALDOS, LORDSHIP OF KALDOS, KINGDOM OF DRAVANIA**

When the doors opened, Sigrun was surprised.

Of course, the entire negotiation business was supposed to take a bit longer than two minutes, but here the hedgehog was, dragging out his boxes of silver, gold and gems. His three guards were just alongside him, helping to heave the heavy chests out of the room.

"I thought that we were getting what's in the boxes," Sigrun nonchalantly breathed out the words. After all, were they not gifts?

"I understand what's in them is all too important to you and Dravania," the hedgehog quickly said, stopping his guards from speaking before him. "But then, he seemed to have some issues with the terms I offered. Although we are not accustomed for lords to walk away from us rudely, we will return if he comes back from his private chambers. For now, though, we shall leave the castle." The hedgehog bowed as he left Sigrun.

_Thordan didn't manage to do anything, did he? He manages to flee into his bed every single time he receives a challenge. If he only knew that there were some that cannot be evaded._

Thordan's room was quite tidy, even for a noble. A double-poster bed with red and white coverings, a desk with a place for little candles, lit when reading books and writing letters at night, and a bookcase full of books, with not a single gap between them.

_This seems strange. Even his journal's still here. When Thordan goes anywhere, there is bound to be at least one book beside him. If he did not take one, that would mean that he had left abruptly, without having time to grab one. That, in turn, would mean…_

The sudden revelation hit Sigrun like a sack of books - almost literally. She sprung and ran into the hallways of the castle, and out of them again. She did not stop until she reached the walls.

She shouted at Lord Strandsor, for the first time in what must have been months. "Lord Strandsor!" she huffed.

"What happened?" The lord was busy trying to create a set of defenses impenetrable, and that dissatisfaction bled into his emotions as well. "It had better be importa-"

"They have taken him." Sigrun felt the tears fall down from her normally collected face. "The Southards have taken my brother!"

* * *

**LORSA, LORDSHIP OF LORSA, KINGDOM OF OTHARN, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA**

"I see that you have found your candidate, Lord Valdemar." Bernhard of Lorsa descended from the stairs, staring at the otterlord all the way.

"Seeing that you had voted for him all those months ago, I suppose you need no further reason to do the same thing once again, I suppose." Lord Valdemar's paws scrubbed against each other, like they were cleaning themselves.

"Where is the otter himself?" Bernhard smiled, taking a seat while gesturing for Valdemar to do the same, which he did. "I very much wanted to meet him, but he seemed to be busy."

"My uncle is busy dealing with Worrad right now, while my son takes care of trouble back home, with the Trielians and all that."

"Worrad, hmm?" Unlike Vargo and Doma, or Gridain and Lorsa, it was a rare occurrence that two vassals of the same species could get along. But Lorsa and Worrad seemed more friendly than every duchy. After all, it was customary for members of one house to vote for the other in royal elections, until this one anyway, in which they had voted for different scions of House Crestworth, with Lord Mestwin voting for Valdemar.

"Yes." Valdemar was not a creature of many words, and this mouselord was not going to change that this easily.

"Of course I am willing to vote for Niels again. Why would I not?"

_So it is that easy, winning him over? No. There always had to be a catch._

"But since I was so forthcoming…" _Of course. _"Would it make sense for King Niels to accept a little request of mine?"

"That depends on its nature."

"What would King Niels say if I asked him not to ally with Southsward during the war and after? You see, my sister and former heir Queen Bertrada is married to King Garmund of Triel, who is struggling in his war."

_Ah, that. _That made sense. Bernhard was all too close to his sister and _vice versa_. Bertrada even named her firstborn, delivered just two months ago, named after her only sibling. Some Otharn houses bypass female relatives for their male descendents, and now Bernhard Tiecelin was heir to Lorsa.

"That, I think, could certainly be arranged. Your contribution to our cause could certainly be welcome, and His Majesty himself has no intention of interceding in the war, unless it is to make a lasting peace. You would be welcome at his court and by his side, fellow lover of peace."_ Niels' will is not mine, though, and I will do as my heart calls me to._

To be fair, it was the Trielians' fault that they had invaded Doma. They had it coming. Thordan Swalestrom retreated after less than a day of attempts, to the amusement of Valdemar and the relief of Niels. Lorcan Stalwart may have been a wily leader, but his chief area of expertise was at naval warfare - he was untested on _terra firma_.

Valdemar continued, "I am glad we have a king who can bring the war across the straits to an end." Valdemar said truthfully. He may not be the most warlike of personages, but he has a mind for diplomacy, and more noticeably, healing. You would very much not regret calling him your king before any attempt at election."

"I am certainly glad for your newfound ability at the making of decisions, Lord Valdemar," Lord Bernhard nodded. "And you have my word that Niels would see his rudder on the Otharn throne in a month, and the Parman one in a season."

"That is good to hear." Valdemar answered curtly, yet tersely.

"Then I shall follow you to Kurburg within days, after I pack up. Aldabreschi may have broken us up once, but you know that this shall not happen again!"

* * *

**DOMA, LORDSHIP OF DOMA, KINGDOM OF OTHARN, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA**

"I think that remaining here is not my best option, Lord Sverker, so excuse me as I make a hasty retreat from Doma."

Lorcan Stalwart's rare display of eloquence shook everyone, including the otter himself. He was calm and collected, yes, but terseness was a family trait.

The siege had gone well at first, but Sverker let slip that he had a season's worth of food stockpiled within Doma. Assault was virtually impossible, and Lorcan was not his impulsive, impetuous brother.

Yet Alfyn was the decisive one. Lorcan wrestled with himself about leaving, and after sixty agonising hours, he decided to keep his beasts safe, and head to Kaldos where Thordan is. A king needs his friend.

"Just like that?" Lord Sverker had his doubts. Like Lorcan, he was a cautious beast, unable to come to sort of decision without thinking twice, yet he seemed to be more _sluggish_.

"Yes. We can't have your brother claiming all the glory, having to save your tail from the 'evil clutches of the rampaging Trielians', or something."

Once Harald Crestworth was mentioned, Sverker seemed more agreeable all of a sudden. "Well, off you go, then. You have a lord's word that I shall not pursue your forces." Sverker sighed, but his eyes betrayed a glare that seemed almost cunning. Almost. "It is dark now, and it may be one of your traps."

"Thank you for accepting my request for parley, Lord Sverker. I hope to work together in future seasons, and perhaps allow friendship to be born." With that final polite sentence, Lorcan Stalwart excited the room, the castle, the town, the beaches, and the shores of Parma.

* * *

**ORIENCE, DUCHY OF DEILART, KINGDOM OF TRIEL**

Somerled's death shook everybeast in the castle, though none could say for sure that they had not expected it.

Both Lord Domnall and his niece Morag were not on good terms with their late kin, and the same could be said for anybeast else. The only nobles of note to actually develop a facade of friendliness were the late King Thordan, the also deceased Duke Kestutas, and Lord Skipper Lorcan Stalwart, who as of this moment was alive.

Vega really could not point her finger at anything that she could blame. Altayras' new father in law was not a _good _creature, and certainly not an _able _one. He would have a hard time dealing with the after-effects of the war if he even got his bottom on the throne of Southsward. After all, having nobeast like you was bad enough, but having nobeast fear you or respect you was the deciding factor. After all, this was a squirrel who had lost every single pitched battle he found himself in.

Lord Domnall could only ascend the ducal throne if there was no posthumous legitimate son of his, which he did not due to being a widower, and if King Garmund recognised his ascension. The latter part was easy. Garmund had been wanting weak dukes since the beginning of his reign, and so far he had two child dukes on their thrones. One of them was his son Bohemond, and the other being Corrado of Jayso. If the mouse king got three dukes wrapped in his claws, the other three would have to band together.

That would not be possible - Garmund has always pushed for Thordan Swalestrom to succeed his mother instead of her elder son, nominally to prevent Thavnair and Obring from joining together. What he actually wanted was another weak duke, though the Dravania business seemed to impede the whole thing.

"I would say we should be leaving soon." A voice behind Vega spoke softly and politely, every word almost a whisper, and every breath almost silence.

The squirrelmaid turned to see another of her kind, shorter and sicklier than even her. Duke Domnall's pelt was as brown as loam, compared to his brother's flame-red fur that he had inherited from his Southard mother. Being born with seizures, a lisp and a lame right footpaw, he managed to keep a quick wit within his infirm body.

"What for?"

The elder squirrel sighed. "The Southards have broke through King Garmund's defenses. They are headed here all too directly."

"Here?" Vega gasped.

"Yes. I have issued orders that they city is to surrender immediately. The bloodshed is too much for the city to bear. We will be in Castle Deilart in the meantime."

"Why are we surrendering? We can still put up quite big of a fight, and delay-"

"Because King Garmund ordered me to." The Duke took a deep breath, no doubt exasperated at Vega being ignorant of what was not told to her. "You see, girl, it is custom in both Triel and Southsward that a surrendered city's properties should be left untouched."

"Pardon me, Your Grace, but I still understand little."

"If Lord Garrion takes Orience, he would have to garrison it adequately. This would deplete his beasts and supplies quicker than imagined."

"Leading to them being unable to take more cities!"

The Duke smiled. "Exactly. By then, King Garmund would have blocked their retreat and starved them into submission. But there is one problem."

"And what is that?"

"They count King Erlend as one of their prisoners. They can easily trade him for anything they want, him being a noble of high status."

Vega remembered the otter - she was the only one able to calm him down after he found out that his son perished in battle. He said that she was like Thordan his son - which was not entirely a compliment.

"That is bad." Vega stated the obvious.

"We can only hope that everything changes for the better now."

"I'm sure everything would!" Both squirrels turned their heads to see another one poking out from a doorway.

"Morag! How many times did Father tell you not to eavesdrop on the conversations of others?"

"How many times did _you_ tell me, Uncle? And how many times did I listen to either of you? You tell me, Vega."

"None and none, as I recall." Vega smiled.

"I get your point, but can you knock next time? Having you enter every single room secretly while I am concentrating can be quite… disconcerting, you see."

"Well, where's the fun in life without a little surprise?" Morag asked, earning a chuckle in reply from Vega. The two had always been friends despite their opposite personalities, and Vega was among the first to celebrate her brother's betrothal.

"I may not know the answer to your question, but I do know about surprise, Morag. You have my word that I would not be as pleasant was you see it to be."

* * *

**VALERAN STRAIT**

"How could they have arrived so early?" Godred fumed, kicking over a bucket full of seawater. "The wind favoured us more than them, and they appear just as we set sail!"

"These questions should be directed to Great Seasons, and not to me." Of all the beasts Godred had met, Guido Aldabreschi has got to be the most annoying of them. Only a beast of such caliber can displace Thordan from that title. "They have but a stroke of good luck, and nothing else in its entirety."

"What could even be worse?" Godred screamed as Lord Guido grimaced at the noise. Their navy had just left the harbour, and the Garlean fleet just appears out of nowhere! Godred should have just stayed in Taralis, or better, Floret.

"Being dead would be a great example, Your Highness." _Your Highness. _Godred hated the upstart mouse with a passion. Godred Swalestrom may call himself king and behave like a king, but unless the mouse stopped whispering in his ear and stopped giving orders in his name, he was merely a king in name, little better than a pretender.

Guido continued. "Retreat is still an option, Your Highness, and I doubt we can-"

'Give the order to advance." This mouse will not disobey him.

"But-"

'You made me king, and you cannot unmake me." Godred spoke, as calm as he could be, at his cowardly vassal. "A subject's first duty is to obey."

"A second duty is to protect. And I will not let you in harm's way!"

"I can handle myself without you nagging in my ear." Before waiting for a response, Godred retreated into the relative safety of his cabin to don his armour.

A set of armour is a noblebeast's greatest companion. The ability to block arrows and glancing blows was essential, and Godred, as a king, had to have it made well. A doublet was cast on top of his torso, followed by cuisses, pollens and greaves for the footpaws. Three pieces of armour act as one for the most protection.

The haubergeon followed, and the breastplate in turn. Canons on forepaws waited their turn, and soon everything was ready.

But not for direct impact.

The very moment Godred opened the door, a ship crashed headlong into their own. Godred thought that all the ships carried the banner of Jayso, but this one was Vargan.

This belonged to Queen Lorelei.

For a while Godred thought her manageable. Leaping onto the ship's stern, he attempted to strike at the impassive queen, dealing a deathblow to all opposition to his rule within a single second, a single swipe of a broadsword.

Then she swept her paw to the left, and somehow, _somehow_, he moved with it.

He fell into the churning waters below. Struggling under the weight of his armour, he surrendered to the will of the tides.

* * *

**RAEVSVAKT, LORDSHIP OF MERAHOLMER, KINGDOM OF DRAVANIA**

"Thus is our treaty etched, thus is agreement made." The last of those who considered themselves nobles, finally finished his oath of fealty.

"What is asked is given, and the price is paid." Lord Alfyn Stalwart was weary after an entire day of receiving homages, which was preceded by four days at sea. He managed to suppress a yawn and gave the squirrel permission to take his leave.

_Finally! _Egil stepped out from behind the curtains, being hidden the whole time. "See? I knew you would do fine!"

"Your confidence has _surely _been appreciated." Alfyn gave a crooked smile. It was Egil's idea that Alfyn immediately convince them to respect his authority - time was important, and more so in a time of war. "Though it is indeed a tiring job."

Unlike Thordan, who had Sir Lennart the Steward by his side (who betrayed him, and died regretting it), Alfyn had nobeast except for Egil to advise him - and it was known even to the weasel himself that his advice was not too reliable. "Thordan would be proud of you, working tirelessly to keep your fief safe."

Alfyn gripped Egil's paw. "Did I do anything wrong for now?" Seeing the weasel shake his head, the grip was loosened. "Gates, I sound very much like Thordan now."

"Well, the folk here like Thordan." Woodlanders saw him as yet another lord they were to obey, yet vermin were all too fanatical about a lord who promised to make them equal to woodlanders - and who just happened to edge closer and closer to the Dravain throne.

Alfyn promised Egil that he would continue his predecessor's policies, and in turn received a promise that Egil would meddle in anything political in nature. With both sides developing a sudden friendship, the likelihood that the agreement was to be kept has risen.

"I understand that I will never be Thordan - I know that much." Alfyn seemed almost pathetic now, with his tiredness overshadowing his looks. But there was also something else. "Yet I don't want to try to surpass him - the Islanders have standards too high. I am no king, and I have no intention of being one. But how will Thordan manage? If I can't bear a mere lordship, how will Thordan fare with a crown atop his head? He's not as strong as his mother wants him to be, and he seems to be weaker than even his father!"

But before Egil could offer up a response in return, a messenger blundered into the room. A brown squirrel, he was, and he could only give up a letter with the Dravain sigil, a wolf, on top of the seal. Before long, he was back to tending his birds

"It seems Thordan decided to send us something." Breaking the wax, Alfyn scanned the lines of the letter. But the more he read, the more likely the letter was sent by something else. Egil could see it on his face. Dropping the letter, Lord Alfyn Stalwart wailed in terror, fleeing from the room like a child.

Egil picked up the letter, and he would do the same after reading Lady Sigrun's plea for help.

* * *

**A/N: Another boring chapter - yet intentionally boring! You may have noticed that a particular plotline was missing here - despite this chapter having a grand total of **_**six **_**segments. Hmm, I wonder what's happening back there?**

**Responses here, right after the appetisers!**

**Grey: Thank you. Somerled's death being so abrupt was not one of my plans, but the plot needs him to die early - you'll see. Noblebeasts tend to die tragic deaths (as well as anybeast in battle), but it is somehow weird that Somerled, the beast who is unlikable even in-universe, deserves pity. Well, everybeast deserves it - that is what I think. Your advice that I should also expand upon magic was also sound. As for Isangrim... he got overconfident. If one pays attention to the Flames of Truth trio, you can see that overconfidence is a shared flaw, though it is exhibited in differing forms. The Southard seers have no problem with that - unlike Old Thordan, Lorelei and Isangrim, they can play themselves off each other better - and hence know themseleves better. Isangrim, being used to his hyper-competence, cannot comprehend even how he could lose, much less why.**

**Sebias: Oh no! Isangrim's dead! Maybe... Chapter 26 is a 'wham' chapter (as opposed to this one) due to Somerled's death and the last segment, and I had fun writing it. Thordan had much, much less fun though... as you'll see. Soon. Who will be next indeed...**

**One-Eye: Heh.**

**Don't worry. You'll surely see what was missing here next chapter. All four seer plotlines, I hope.**

**Chapter 29 (**_**Nemesis**_**) will be up on 20/21 October! Yes, I know it's a Monday, but like Book I before, I can afford to make a few schedule changes, can I? ;)**


	29. Nemesis

**Nemesis**

* * *

**SALAMANDASTRON, LORDSHIP OF SALAMANDASTRON**

"So this is what you call Conjuration." Lord Rathor sat impassively as his eyes fell on Arbert.

"You are correct, Your Lordship." Arbert tucked back Finnbarr into its sheath. The sword was one of two he had taken from the Chamber of Stars back in Floret, the other being in the possession of his brother. Or it could be still in Floret. Arbert did not know.

A gust of wind followed by a fountain of water were all that was needed to convince Arbert's Seercraft that it was real, not some trick taught to him by some vermin band.

"And why do you need Verminfate from me again?" The badger was kind and gentle, but that did not mean that he was to believe all that Arbert said.

"There are beasts that are trying to destroy worlds. So far, they have succeeded in one count. Hundred of millions of beasts lost their lives due to a cruel beast's will. The entire world has been frozen in ice, with its inhabitants willing to ingest the most lethal poison than to live in a world forsaken by all that could help them. My brother and I were unlucky enough to witness the few survivors trying desperately to end themselves - and succeed."

"Would this fate befall us as well?" This managed to grab the badgerlord's attention.

"This is unknown to me," Arbert told the truth. "But I suspect that their next target is to invade another world. One containing another myriad beasts."

"Can you tell me what they look like? I can notify you when I see them."

"One is an old otter with a regal bearing and dark grey fur, but that had been taken care of. We know of one other - a black fox with a smug smile and a staff."

"So he is what you call a Thaumaturge?"

"Correct. I can even say that he is the most dangerous beast living at this moment."

"That is serious. You are to stop him, are you?"

"Without a doubt. He will fall to my paws, I am sure."

"Then can I tell you of a dream I had last night?"

Arbert's ears rose. "Please do so, Lord Rathor."

"I saw you, in desperation, with the black fox in the same room as you are, and a third figure. He and you seemed to be staring at each other."

"Are you sure it was me?" Arbert pressed.

"He looked very much like you. You were in a white robe, and seemed to be fighting."

_Dagbert? Why? _"Do you know more? Where did the dream happen? Who was the third beast?"

"I am sorry, but it was not really clear to me. Dreams are hard to remember, and this one was all too difficult to remember. I got all the important things down, but I am afraid that some details are not really remembered."

"Thank you for telling me about this dream. I shall notify my companions immediately. They need to be prepared for what is coming next." With that, Arbert gripped Finnbarr's hilt, and aligned the points together. A Pathway to Floret was formed, like a tunnel passing through a mountain of space.

"Oh, and watch out for the black fox. I have a feeling he will come to the mountain soon."

Seeing the badger nod, Arbert stepped through the Path and made a beeline for the Chamber of Stars. He needed Fatch as much as Finnbarr.

* * *

**BALSAMU**

The beast who called himself Emetselk had never loved the island, but here he was.

In a remote beach did the two beasts tumble out from a Corridor of Darkness. The beast that called himself Emetselk had his obligations to the beasts under him, dead they might be. Two souls did he carry, and a third was on its way.

Of course, the stoat was with him. Beneath the signature black cloak of the Ward (there was also a white cloak, but the stoat decided he looked better in black), there was a jet-black suit of armour, which was used to cultivate an image of doom and malevolence (quite ironic, since he was not actually a creature beasts consider to be evil). Well, if any beast had to strike fear into the enemy, it was the black stoat in black armour with a black Landservant sword, massive, thick and heavy, though more like a sword than a heap of raw steel.

He was a Black Knight, as the stories told. A knight with no liege - the beast who called himself Emetselk does not count.

The Protector, the stoat was called, despite having failed in his task of protection when he was a woodlander, and living. The name was not meant to be ironic when the beast who called himself Emetselk gave it to him, though the vermin himself bore it and its translation with pride. A second chance was not easily seized, after all.

But before his task of protection, there was something he had to do. Near the waters, there was a figure of within a suit of armour, unconscious. Apparently he was an otter who washed up during the battle of the straits, with his heavy armour impeding any attempt at swimming. But he was no corpse yet.

The stoat stepped forward, only to be stopped by a paw in front of him. The beast who called himself Emetselk had his own ideas. "Not now, Fandaniel. Not now."

After their misadventure with Somerled in Dravania, the duo rested at Dalagab for a while, then they came here as befitting to the will of the Fates. 'Amalrik' was to wait for another time where a disguise proved favourable to their goals.

The beast who called himself Emetselk rushed forward, examining the downed Godred Swalestrom. His pulse was still here, weak, but existent. Clutching his Augmenter from the Iceshard, a sword from their version of Redwall, he set to work. Embracing and surrendering to Conjuration as Emmeroloth had told him, droplets of water were expelled from Godred Swalestrom's mouth, first in a trickle, then in a flood.

Of course, this did not save him immediately. As the stoat watched on, the beast who called himself Emetselk Conjured flows of healing, patiently waiting for them to do their work.

Of course, the beast that called himself Emetselk was no slouch in the healing department. Before long, the otter coughed once, then twice. Cupping Lord Swalestrom's head, the stoat continued to observe as the beast who called himself Emetselk continued to heal him.

The otter on the sand spoke. "Thank you. Thank you very much." This, he said in Valeran - a big mistake. Balsamu had its own language, which is similar but not all that related to the Valeran, Garlean and Parmese languages of the Ilsadian language family.

The beast who called himself Emetselk spoke in Trielo-Southard, just so Fandaniel the stoat can understand. "It shall seem that you are better than before."

Godred did a double take, clearly not expecting more Southards in Balsamu. "What are your names? I wish to reward you once this whole war thing was over."

"Call me Amalrik." The beast who did not call himself Amalrik laughed. "The stoat does not talk often, especially to a child of Lord Becker."

"You two know who I am?" A flash of worry erupted before Godred Swalestrom's eyes.

"Yes." The beast who called himself Emetselk nodded, and the stoat swung his weapon, cutting through fur, skin, tendon, muscle and bone, until Godred's head was permanently separated from his neck.

"We are not kin anymore, Godred," the stoat seethed under his helm.

* * *

**DRAVANIAN HINTERLANDS**

_Is this how it all ends? Dying in a box?_

Thordan was clearly not thinking straightly simply because he was not able to do so physically. He had awoken inside a chest, bound and gagged, and the moment he struggled, he realised Isangrim was with him in the container - too close for any sort of comfort.

They had only let the two out once for who-knows-when, to sluice him in a river, after which their invisible bonds have been replaced with material ones, and his clothes were sent down a river - to 'confuse your friends', the mole or hedgehog said.

Thordan had always refrained from hating anyone, but Dagbert really came close. He knew that taking him by any other method would lead to suspicion, but this was truly hellish. This scheme, of course, came from a mind that knew Isangrim was dangerous - Thordan's grandfather always told him that vermin seers were prickly beasts - but this was too extreme for the mole.

Thordan remembered he was a kindly beast back in Floret, a better avuncular figure than Becker, even. So why the cruelty now? Either he was doing this on the orders of someone, or he had to do something for Southsward - mere patriotism. Thordan desperately hoped it was the latter option that was offered to the mole.

"Keep with us a second. We're almost there." This 'Bodvar' otter had talked to him since he was confirmed to have awoken, despite the (quite obvious) fact that he was still gagged. He was _annoying_, to say the least.

Isangrim did not help matters. Thordan had learned smells and scents during his time in Healer training, but he had only heard of a fox's pungent smell which was emitted when he or she was scared once, in an offpaw mention by Niels. Well, he was forced to experience it for more than twenty-three hours a day. And horrible it was, even without counting the times that the both of them relieved themselves out of fear or failure to hold it in. They were fed nothing during the journey, and Thordan overheard something about starving them for the time being, if only to add to Thordan's ever-growing list of worries.

He must have dozed off, for when the next time he opened his eyes, he was in that box, but there was no fox in it. He waited.

_Voices. From afar. Moving in._

"Oh, Birger. I am sure he would cooperate for a bit. He's not had food for Gates knows how long, and beasts like him are not used to hunger." _The definitive and irksome voice of Captain Bodvar Waycaster. How welcoming._

"I'm just afraid that he'll still resist. Try to escape. You know what is to happen if he does, don't you? If the worst happens-" _The mouse._

"Don't worry, Pickner. All will end well for us, having a lord in our back pocket." _Someone new._

The box was quickly opened, and Thordan squinted at the sudden influx of light. One head was definitely Bodvar, and the other two were guards as well. Next to the otter and the mouse was another otter, though in a blue uniform instead of red.

"Wakey wakey, lordling!" The vexing captain untied his muzzle, and Thordan tried too hard to resist biting his paw. He succeeded - the only thing that went his way today.

The ropes around his body were then curled away and tossed to the side, while Thordan took the younger otter's paw. Stumbling for a bit, it took half a minute for him to stand upright, with a bit of help, of course.

The captain half-dragged him to a wooden chair, where Thordan sat down without much prodding. He was then left tied up, of course. All four of his paws were bound to one of the chair's appendages - frontpaws to armrests and footpaws to chairlegs. Even his tail was tied to another chairleg, while he did nothing to struggle against his bonds. He had taken enough punishment already.

Then they left him unattended for a while. That was the disconcerting bit. Having other beasts discuss your fate while you sat as helpless as a fish on a tree.

"The swordstaff-"

"-no, we wouldn't want him-"

"- to feel relaxed, not-"

Thordan must have slept without knowing again, beacuse the next thing he felt was a bucketful of water sloshing down his muzzle.

Bodvar sighed in mock disappointment. "Ah, you've fallen asleep again."

"What else was I to do?" Thordan muttered behind his breath, ensuring nobeast heard his sudden outburst..

"Tell me. Do you want to play a little game, otterlord?"

"A game?" The naked otter couldn't believe that.

"You know, a structured form of play for entertainment. That's what Phronesis told me anyway."

Still too nervous for normal thinking methods, Thordan quickly nodded. "You're not going to hurt me if I play, are you?"

"No!" the mouse cried out almost on impulse.

"Well, not a lot, anyway." The third otter was inclined to disagree.

"Oh, try to shut up for a while, Birger." A first name basis usually is a sign of familiarity - Thordan was sure they were close. Brothers, maybe? Or commander and soldier? "The Boreller brothers invented it, and I made a few adjustments as befitting your status."

Thordan stared blindly and blankly at the trio as the elder otter fumbled for his weapon. It looked like a sword on a stick, but was definitely not a spear. A Dravain weapon somehow found its way into a Southard with a Dravain name.

"Alright. Here are the rules. We point the swordstaff at you. You just sit there, being totally silent while we ask you questions with no definite answer. Then we will move the spear closer or farther away from you depending on the answer."

"Depending on the answer?"

"That means we will move it to you if we don't like your answer." The mouse (Pickner, was it?) smiled like a demon from Hellgates.

'Alright. What is your name?" Captain Bodvar asked the first question, the swordstaff horizontally held to Thordan's neck.

_Name. Not title. _"Thordan Swalestrom."

True to his word the blade was moved about an inch towards the back. Hiding a shocked expression, the otter asked his second question. "What is your favourite colour?"

"Grey." The swordstaff was retreated a another inch.

"Gates, you're good at this!" Captain Bodvar smiled - not a sadistic one as a prisoner was interrogated, but one that appeared when a game was played. "Let me see - I forgot the last question." He gestured at Birger. 'Whatsit again?"

The second otter was nonchalant. "What was the capital of Parma before the Skywards became its kings?"

For once, Thordan was glad about studying history. "Kurburg."

For the first time, the swordstaff did not move as Bodvar scratched his head. "Was it Kurburg?"

"That's what Phronesis said it was, anyway." Pickner whispered into his companion's ear, but Thordan caught the words.

The spear retreated further back and Bodvar complained in his usual mocking tone. "You're no fun, lordling. At least Joar gave us a few chances before he fell sick an' had to walk away from the mission. You're better than the fox at it anyways."

'The fox?" For the first time in what seemed like millenia for Thordan (yet was actually a few hours), Bodvar managed to get his attention.

"Ah, yes. When we asked about his name, he refused t' answer, even when the spear drew blood. Phronesis called him over to his side, and we have no idea what's happening t' him."

* * *

"You must not treat us seers so." Dagbert may not have been the usual interrogator, but with Ralos absent, he had no choice but to leave the three guards with Thordan and deal with Emmeroloth himself.

"Seers? You call yourself a proper seer?" Three hours of interrogations yielded no results, and the fox was resilient indeed. "Aren't you at least a bit ashamed, calling yourself that? Like a rabbit calling himself a hare?"

"You know we do not know everything, but-"

"Well, we know you know nothing, and I'm not telling you anything, so there's that." The fox would have crossed his paws if he was not tied spread eagle by bonds of air.

"Very well." The mole turned around and sauntered away, walking away from a tent into another, weaving the Veil along the way, where the three guards were trying to get something out of Thordan. Judging by the whole three feet from the swordpoint to the unclothed otter, it was not going very well.

"You three, go outside for a while. I have words for you." The woodlander guards swiftly obeyed his orders, leaving Thordan seating on his 'throne'.

"I see that you were having quite a bit of fun back there." Dagbert stated.

"Well, you ordered us not to draw blood from him like we did to Emmeroloth, so we to try new methods." Bodvar's smile disappeared, as if expecting punishment.

'Well, I need help with breaking the fox."

"The one you called the seer?" This time, it was Birger Waycaster who spoke out of turn. "Well, seers are quick to anger, and should not be treated like a mere prisoner."

An idea hit Dagbert. _That was the problem. Everybeast fears him - even I do. Before we could break him, our fear and our respect of him has to be shattered once and for all._

'Come with me." Momentarily later, the four were in Emmerloth's tent. He was still helpless, away from his Augmenter, and Dagbert kept his Thaumaturgy locked away, so he was useless in the physical sense.

The mole-as-hedgehog whispered into his guard's ears. "Laugh when you want. No need to keep a straight face."

Calling his winds, Dagbert, the beast who called himself Phronesis yet was not, severed Emmeroloth's bonds and blew him towards the hedgehog himself. A slight trip was enough to send the starved and weakened fox tumbling down into Dagbert's lap.

_He is a monster responsible for the deaths of hundreds of millions, and is totally willing to doom another five times that number. And he dares to withhold information that can be used to save thousands of millions. The time for normalcy is over._

"Are you going to tell me where the Iceshard Worldcleaver is, or are you going to suffer?" Dagbert took on Arbert's voice and mannerisms for this beast and his alone

"How about I give you a fast death that you do not deserve, and burn everybeast in Southsward to a crisp? That is the right thing to do, as you might put it."

"I see." Dagbert sighed. _So this is what it has come to._

Flipping Emmeroloth over with Wind, Dagbert proceeded to spank the most powerful Thaumaturge in the Source like a disobedient child.

Of course, he resisted at first. He snarled, and raged, and gave wild threats that were as impotent as his previous ones. Then he howled, not in anger, but in pain. Not only pain, but rage as well - rage at one of the sole beasts in the world who dared oppose him, and rage at all the beasts that watched him suffer, and did nothing.

"Now," Dagbert smiled like a mother to her child. "Will you please tell us where it is?"

"Damn you! Damn you all!" The fox shrieked before he could curse a third time - as Dagbert began again. The guards's silences became sniggers, and soon evolved into full blown laughter, just as Dagbert intended. All the while, the fox's tears began to fall one by one. Not from pain, or the promise of further pain, but humiliation. Humiliation breaks proud beasts.

"Where is it?"

"I am not-" Dagbert raised his paw up again, and the fox's attitude changed like the wind. "It's in the Aetherochemical Research Facility in the Windshard! It's with Emetselk!"

Dagbert stood up, and Emmeroloth flopped onto the ground, still crying. _Serves him right - and his queen too._

He was about to leave the tent when he was intercepted by Bodvar Waycaster, who was still trying to hold in his laughter, and his two companions.

"Well, that was effective. Should we use it on Thordan next? I mean, he won't be seriously hurt or something, but-"

Dagbert's face changed so fast that his Veil almost peeled off. "No! No. Thordan's as humble as nobles could be - humiliation would not work as well. Stick to physical methods."

The mole recalled a little incident in the Earthshard, in the castle they used as a base. It was about a pine marten who was a prisoner of a hare which he had heard from a witness, far in their version of the Lands of Ice and Snow.

"Well, Captain Waycaster, there's quite a method I want to see used on our little lordling…"

* * *

**A/N: This is one chapter that I seemed to have rushed a bit too fast, but I am still quite proud of it for one reason or another. Maybe it's my first chapter where all the POVs are all seers?**

**Responses coming up! Oh wait.**

**Anyway, thanks for decreasing my workload, guys!**

**More seers coming up next chapter, and another Thordan segment shall be here before November!**

**Chapter 30 (_Calamity Unbound_) will be up on 23/24 October! A Thursday!**


	30. Calamity Unbound

**Calamity Unbound**

* * *

**TARALIS, BALSAMU**

'You actually knighted the vermin?" Lorelei's tone was more incredulous than scrutinising.

"Yes, Mother." Corrado Truetide was the only figure in her immediate family who could stand up to her, and she always took a liking to him because of that.

To be fair, Arn Skulason actually performed all too well as a commander, considering that he was only five seasons older than Corrado - or that was what Lorelei had heard.. The Southpaws had been dismissed, and almost all of them were relaxing in the city. Strangely, for a band of mercenary vermin, they had actually obeyed the order to leave all within the walls untouched. That meant that the inns that night were crowded, but the city was untouched, winning a victory against the Valerans without even fighting a battle.

"Lord Guido escaped though, and we don't have the gold and soldiers to finish him if he is entrenched in his home territories." The battle in the straits was a resounding victory, though it was a close-run thing. A quarter of the Garlean ships were actually repurposed ships from a merchant fleet bought from Arn's father, and a quarter of all twenty eight galleys were either destroyed completely or were awaiting repairs.

"Well, we can finally get him to stop harassing Parman soil, though he will refuse to bend the knee to his rightful king." Lorelei replied, her mind clearly not where it should be.

"Niels." Like Thordan, Corrado was raised by the kindly healer when Lorelei had had enough of him and his antics. "I may wish that we have a better king, but we have to make do with what we have got."

"Then why don't you declare yourself King of Parma here and now?" Lorelei raised a brow. "Your troops love you, you crushed Aldabreschi while Niels talked and talked, and you are King Thordan's grandson!"

"Parma doesn't need me." Corrado dismissed his mother's plea with a swipe of his paw. "With all of Grandfather's conquering and consolitdating, the realm needs peace more than anything. Who better to give peace than the most peaceful otter in the whole realm?"

"Who, your brother Thordan?" Lorelei flinched at the name.

"Mother, we don't even know where he is. Those Southards have carried him away to who-knows-where. The fiends!"

"Well, I know where he is." Lorelei gave a poisonous smile. "Though getting to him will be difficult, considering who is holding him prisoner right now. I have a rescue mission organised, and the beasts responsible shall depart tonight."

"Tonight?" Corrado's eyes widened. "It could be too late by now. Thordan could have been feeding fish right now, and nothing good will come of a mission that fails!"

'Just don't worry and we'll be together again. I can promise you that, at least." With that, mother and son parted ways - only to find that the beasts they seek were talking to one another.

"Eduard? A word." As Corrado led his bard away, no doubt to discuss wages, Lorelei gestured Hersent to her side.

"Do you know how to open Pathways? I think I need you quite a bit."

"I know, the Isangrim business." Hersent showed determination - an emotion that was born to her when she discovered that Thordan and the fox were abducted. "I need to know where he is first. Or where he is around, anyway."

"The Bond tells me that he is somewhere in the Dravain Hinterlands, and there is only one fort of any importance around there. That's where they're spanking Isangrim. Gates! You don;t know how much I want to pay that idiot measure for measure!" Aside from the black fox's physical punishments, Lorelei felt all of his sadness, anger and hopelessness as his bottom was studded thrice a day.

The vixen nodded. "Viksten. You told me about it. What is it like?"

"I have no idea, but I know the town around it." Lorelei's mind drifted back to much happier times. "Erlend showed it to me once. When I was carrying his child. Buildings dotted the riverbank, while the grass grew around the mountains. Three bridges crossed the river, and-"

"I got it!" The vixen laughed with glee as she opened a Pathway - to Vargo Palace. "Well, we could find paintings of Dravain towns in the collection King Erlend gave you. Then I can study it and open a Pathway there.

"Sounds annoying, but we do not actually have a choice." Lorelei sprinted into her home, with the fox in tow.

* * *

**HOLMINSTER, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD**

The marten slinked behind the squirrel and spoke. "Everything alright?"

Ralos jumped up with surprise, but soon relaxed when he saw that it was Slyte. The two had worked together, yes, and though Ralos carried the Southard dislike for vermin of all sorts, he was the only Thaumaturge on their side.

The first time Ralos saw him was in a visit from Dagbert to the general after Macolt. It took five and a half decades before he knew that he was a seer, with more than three being stuck in army work. He was not a good seer, but he was one, and liable to be attacked by all who stood against Southsward - and himself as well.

Seers are the only beasts who are liable to be possessed against their wills by those who have left this world, but were stuck between the living and the dead, so Ralos was trained for a while in defending against all that seek to harm him. His scythe being an Amplifier was also a deciding factor, though the most Ralos could do with it was to make banners move withoit help of the wind and fanning the smallest of fires.

But he found his talent, or Gift as it was called. Battlefocus, it was called, and with it the ability to bolster the will of allies was his. If his beasts needed encouragement and will, then Ralos would give it to them, as befitting his duty.

"No, Slyte, everything is not alright. And stop bothering me."

"Well, I'm tasked t' deal with this problem here." The vermin pointed at the unconscious Erlend Swalestrom. His wounds had gotten so bad that he had to be kept unconscious at all times, with the help of herbs and medicines. "Arbert, or was that Dagbert? No. it had t' be Arbert." The marten scratched his head. "Arbert wants him a bit on the dead side. He says that Lorelei would be deprived of an ally while this would prevent her from birthing more seers. Pah! A bunch of nonsense! That otterwife is too old to create half a pup!"

"She is not fifty yet, and even older wives have birthed," said Ralos, rolling his eyes.

It was then when footsteps were heard coming from the door. Before Ralos could whisper 'hide under the bed' Slyte hid under the bed, a mere three seconds before Garrion and his bodyguard appeared from the doorway, alongside Dirk. The three otters shared some sort of friendship now, and

"I see that Erlend has not awoken yet." Garrion spoke first. 'I wanted to talk to him, but I fear this should wait for another day."

Ralos waited a while before speaking. "He was your kin, and should be treated as such, despite being our enemy."

"Can you tell me what you know about him?" The younger otterlord's voice seemed to creak. "I barely knew him at all, close in blood that we may have been."

Ralos sighed. Memories of earlier days, months and seasons were coming back to him, whether he wanted or not. "He was a brave warrior and a good friend to all who would approach him, but he was as humble as a lord could be. He loved his subjects too much, and this led him to prefer them to his liege. He may be a traitor, but he made the choice he thought was right."

"He's dying, is he?" Galen spoke out of turn too much, it seemed, yet Garrion seemed to see him and Dirk as more of equals than subjects.

"I fear that he would not live to see tomorrow's dawn." He himself wondered if the statement was actually more than a half truth. Even without Slyte to help him to the Dark Forest, his condition seemed to turn worse day by day.

"Oh…" Garrion was not in the best of moods himself, having taken a wound in the recent battle as well. His arm had healed, yet his bad mood continued to express himself. Seeing his uncle fight to the death against his best friends must have contributed to it.

"Lord Garrion!" A messenger awaited him near the doorway. "News from Dravania!"

As the three otters moved to the mouse herald, Dirk made sure to wink before stepping out. Whether it was signalled towards Ralos or the marten under the bed was a mystery for later.

The door was closed, and Slyte soon leapt into action. He grabbed a vial from his belt, and prepared to pour it into Erlend's muzzle - just before Ralos stopped him.

"You killed his paramour with this, did you not? Tell me."

Slyte nodded. It was this marten that killed the beast responsible for Erlend's mental wellbeing. It was this beast that started a war that killed thousands.

But this was also the beast who was crucial to save millions, and millions more. All grievances could wait for later. "Use something else. Erlend Swalestrom deserves a painless death."

In a way, he did deserve one. Within seconds, Slyte produced another flask - one to kill himself with should his mission fail. He could escape from chains, yes, but he had no idea what tortures could await him. Then the foul liquid was poured down the otter's throat.

"Sleep well, Your Highness." It really seemed like the spear-holder was going to sleep, though his chest seemed to go up and down more slowly. Then it stopped moving - he stopped moving.

"Another job well done." Slyte smiled as he prepared to climb away from a window. "Arbert's here to pick us up, and we'll be good to go."

But the old squirrel was not in the mood to smile. Not because of the otter's death, but due to something else.

"Drat." The pine marten turned to Ralos, who banged his fist on the nearest table. "We forgot about the spear Augmenter! We forgot about Heavensward!"

* * *

**VIKSTEN, KINGDOM OF DRAVANIA**

Isangrim sat on the ground, waiting for another session with Dagbert.

The room, or more accurately, cell, he was in was completely and utterly devoid of light, and Isangrim had no Augmenter or Amplifier to light up his surroundings. The luxury of lamps, torches and candles were denied him as well, to 'teach him a lesson', as the mole told him.

There was no rational reason for him to be left in darkness. He was not afraid of the dark - foxes see well in dim light. They did it just to humiliate him.

Isangrim moved slowly to the corner, weakened by an entire week of hunger. The otters gave him water, but nothing else. The fox's paws curled around his footpaws, as he was still naked from the cold. Another attempt at resistance would result in either his fur being shaved off or his tail being hung up in the main square in Duncton, and the choice was not his.

Tears formed at the corners of his eyes, but they were swiftly wiped away. He will _not _cry. He is one of the Heaven's Ward, and crying is for lesser beings. But the humiliation was more painful than anything the fox had ever faced. He remembered all too vividly how he was turned on his knees and spanked like a disobedient child. Only one beast did that before, and Isangrim by then was indeed a disobedient child.

Now he was the most powerful being in the Source. And Dagbert's sole reaction was one of mere annoyance! Annoyance! He treated Emmeroloth - a Warder - like a pebble in his path, barely worth the slightest of notices. How? How had he lost control of the situation so quickly and abruptly?

_They will pay. They will pay! I am the Darkening Cloud!_

In the end, he had spilled his secrets. The stoat, the otter, Dalagab, the Aetherochemical Research Facility, how the Ward was pulling beasts back from the grave, and Thordan Swalestrom. Revealing the last one's nature and Gift was the straw that had broken his back, and now… the less said about him, the better.

Pickner the mouse told him that there will be no session tomorrow, and he will finally be given food the day after! Food! What he had taken for granted had seemed like a good of luxury now.

"Emmeroloth."

The fox's ears perked up immediately. Had he imagined the voice? It was like a swift chill, after all, and these things could be illusory.

"You have failed greatly, Emmeroloth." _He _was here.

From the shadows crept out an otter and a stoat - his bodyguard, though not a Bondbeast yet. As of this moment, only vermin bonds were stable enough to be created without any risk of failure, and this time the Bonder and Bondbeast were both technically woodlanders.

After a gesture, the stoat was sent back into the shadows, leaving only the otter. "You have failed to protect the boy, who suffered much, much more than a mere spanking." He could have sworn that the dark furred otter was holding in a laugh, and the thought infuriated him, but now was the time for submission, not rage. "You have revealed yourself and lost secrets that are all too valuable for the Ward." Emetselk shook his head as he approached the fox, cards slowly being taken out of his pockets. "Perhaps most unfortunately and _importantly_," the fox twinged visibly at the last word, stressed by the Angel of Truth as he was healed, the cards forming an imitation of a starry sky surrounding the Thaumaturge. "You let yourself get captured by your enemies, and allowed yourself to be broken."

The stoat returned with a new set of clothes, and a little figure of a wolf made of glass. An Amplifier. Not an Augmenter, but it shall do fine in the meantime.

"You have been given one last chance." The otter spoke like a corpse, which he technically was. "Do. Not. Fail."

"We shall be heading back to Dalagab in the meantime." Isangrim's ears perked up once more as he finished putting on his new clothes. "We shall meet where the mole flees."

The otter walked back into the shadowy corridor, yet the stoat remained here. Then Fandaniel spoke - the first order from him entered Emmeroloth's ears.

'Keep my brother safe, or I swear by Great Seasons that my paw shall warm your bottom for every single day of your miserable life." He left, trailing after the otter.

Isangrim decided that obeying the other Warder was a _very _good idea.

* * *

**KALDOS, LORDSHIP OF KALDOS, KINGDOM OF DRAVANIA**

"I am all too glad that all of you have come today." Gustav Strandsor's normally joyful look seemed to have withered away and grounded into dust in the last week. The Southards had smuggled a king from right under his shoulders, so he had reason and cause to stave off sleep for days on end. "Dravania cannot stand alone, you see. WIthout Thordan Swalestrom, we are all too vulnerable here."

"Enough talk, Realmswarden." Alfyn was in an all too similar mood. "What will you have me do?"

"We need a Regent of the Realm. Whether if he is Thordan does not matter."

Lord Gustav had little time to regret his mistake as Lord Alfyn Stalwart of Meraholmer put his paws above his throat and dragged him to the wall. Apparently the elder otterlord missed a few cues that saying that his most powerful vassal's friend 'does not matter' is a very, very bad idea.

'What my father meant was for you to take your responsibilities as Regent." During the two months for Alfyn Stalwart to know Haakon Strandsor, he presented himself as a less nervous Thordan Swalestrom, but one who had more duties than friends.

Alfyn let go of the lord. "Oh. So _I_ am Regent now. Brilliant." He snarled. "I am the second creature who you deemed worthy to declare Regent without having been asked. Your foresight is completely and utterly without fault. Well, I am not as malleable as Thordan, so get your power hungry tails out of here and be what you want to be!"

"If we were after power," Lord Strandsor huffed. "We would have got it already! Haakon here could marry Sigrun, convince Thordan to waive his rights, and get his behind on the throne!"

'What matters is that this did not happen, and will never happen." Haakon breathed a sigh of relief as Alfyn appeared to calm down.

_Be like Egil and smile and laugh, veiling your thoughts from your opponent's mind. _"I propose a little switch in responsibilities." Alfyn smiled. _Be like Thordan and change from within, instead of forcing change from outside. _"I see that you desire the position of regent, so I will allow you to take it. _Be like Lorcan, and try to convince those before you that what you plan is indeed sound. _"You see, I have more experience in fighting than manner of ruling a state, while you have the opposite." _Kill Sir Alfyn, and let the Lord of Meraholmer arise from his broken tomb. _"I say that you shall be Regent while I take the office of Realmswarden, and put a stop to Lord Becker."

"Your reasoning is reasonable, Lord Alfyn. I accept your bargain." Alfyn made a gesture to kneel before his new liege lord, but with a wave of his paw Lord Gustav commanded him to stand.

"As my first act as Regent, I declare Thordan Swalestrom, former Lord of Meraholmer and Regent of Dravania, King of the Dravanians. The Ulfingers have always watched over Dravania and the crown has always been on their heads as long as history can remember. As the realm is in a state of crisis far beyond all that we have seen before, we need a king, and desperately so."

"Long live King Thordan!" Haakon Strandsor said softly, and Alfyn found himself unable to resist repeating the sentence. _Oh, Seasons have mercy. Thordan, please forgive me._

* * *

**A/N: As Book II comes to a close, there are a few plotlines to wrap up, so here they are. **

**Responses here.**

**Grey 28: Ah, all the books. Sigrun knows Thordan the best out of his three half-siblings - and we still do not have a scene where Thordan and Corrado are in the same location. Alfyn whimpering was partly based on another stuck-up otterlord's reaction to important news in TBBU. Lorelei oneshotting Godred was the best duel I can ever make. Seercraft makes duels ridiculously easy... Oh, and Somerled? What Somerled?**

**Grey 29: Well... Arbert can't lie to Rathor because seers literally can't lie - see Chapter 19 for details. The stoat? This isn't a particularly good 'mystery' on my part... but one does realise that his demeanour isn't really of Old Thordan, though beasts change after death like they do in life... and poor Thordan. Isangrim doesn't get any better fate, but still, poor him as well.**

**Eskil and Arn Skulason are actually based on Eskil and Arn (who else?) from Jan Guillou's Crusades trilogy. I have not read the books (they are only commonly known about in Swedish, and I cannot find them anywhere), but I know the characters well. (thank you, TVTropes!)**

**I have not actually envisioned Erlend dying this late - originally Galen was supposed to challenge him to a duel, and Erlend dies, but we need more drama - and more Slyte. Oh, and the third Ralos PoV since Book I.**

**And Thordan's actually King of Dravania, even though the poor child does not know it yet. Speaking of which, where **_**is **_**Thordan?**

**Chapter 31 (**_**The Edge**_**) will be up on 27/28 October!**


	31. The Edge

**The Edge**

* * *

**VIKSTEN, KINGDOM OF DRAVANIA**

The good news was Thordan did not have to worry about dying in the box. Isangrim had been placed in another one, just to relieve some of his pressure.

The bad news was that Thordan was in unknown territory, locked up in a barrel (which was much, much smaller than the chest he was locked in) with only his left footpaw sticking out, and could only listen to what was happening to the outside world.

He was still bound, gagged and naked to the fur, and no chamber pot was offered to him. As a consequence too obvious, he was stinking in this enclosed space, and Thordan knew not which was worse, the former or the latter.

The container was only opened for Captain Bodvar or Birger to untie his muzzle and pour water in - food was a thing of the past, and he would have done anything for it. The otterlord's grandfather had taught him that a beast could survive without food for three whole weeks, but Thordan just knew that he wouldn't live to see a second week - not literally nor figuratively.

At least they have stopped moving the barrel. Bodvar told him that nobeast but the four who transported him knew he was here, though the same could not be said for Isangrim. The otter captain also asked too many questions, even non-rhetorical ones. But then, he forgot that Thordan was gagged every twenty minutes, so there's that.

Pawsteps. Thordan heard pawsteps. Pawsteps usually meant that somebeast was approaching his barrel. That same somebeast who would proceed to do unspeakable things to him - his last drink (which, for some reason, was much, much larger than the ones preceding it) had just been a mere two hours ago.

He had not given up hope of escape yet - Swalestroms were not supposed to be afraid. Though there were many, many things that made his blood turn as cold as a river in winter, including approaching pawsteps, and he was totally terrified, yet decided to act brave anyways.

But those same pawsteps stopped, and Thordan could smell nothing other than the usual stench of his excretions - that, he had got used to, at least. And as the brave face melted, he realised that scared him all the more.

The barrel was opened, and Thordan squinted from the sudden light. Before he could get used to the radiance, he was dumped into another barrel, this one filled with nothing but water. More screaming and thrashing quickly followed, and when Thordan was finally pulled out from the cold water, he was but a shivering, whimpering mess.

A towel was draped around him, and a glance indicated that Bodvar's eyes were strangely empty, devoid of malice or regret. _What had Dagbert done to them? And what will he do to me?_

When more ropes were tied around him, Thordan did not resist. His time in the barrel was over, but he knew he was broken.

For the first time in two whole weeks, Thordan had an adequate grasp of his surroundings. He was in another one of those Sword-forts, though one within Dravain territory. Suits of armour seemed to be staring straight at the towel-clad Thordan, and the thought of them seeing him made his ears droop. He had suffered enough humiliation.

_Is that what Dagbert meant when he talked about seeing my father for the last time? Having to endure being tortured to death while he is worried sick about me?_

His still shivering body was deposited in a chair, his bonds severed and his gag finally removed as he came face to face with his chief tormentor. Dagbert did not look as smug as he was expected to, having caused so much pain.

"Forgive me, but I did what I had to do." Thordan's old chess piece, the otterking, began to glow in Dagbert's paws.

Thordan was too exhausted and broken to say anything.

"Seers are normally resistant to Pressuring," Dagbert rambled on, "so your mind had to be crushed before Emmeroloth poisons it."

For a moment, Thordan wanted to resist as Dagbert's Conjured spell entered his mind, but he just couldn't. He didn't have the energy or the drive. He never had them.

And so, he just sat as he felt a semblance of obedience, a sense of longing for Floret, the need for companionship among the scholar mole and his warrior brother…

All of a sudden, a spear of ice tore through the door, rousing Thordan from his clouded mind. Dagbert dodged it, of course, and countered with a blow just as hard - a torrent of water.

When the blast cleared, Thordan was still in his chair, shocked, Dagbert was holding a book which he pulled out from nowhere, and Isangrim was choking and gasping from all the water.

"You never learn, do you not?" Ropes of Wind bound the incapacitated fox to the ground, his muzzle bound like the last time all three were together, with Dagbert still as Phronesis.

There was nothing Thordan could do. Or so Dagbert thought.

He charged at the mole, barreling into him, and wrenched the wooden otter carving from his grasp as they tumbled onto the ground.

Then the both of them surrendered.

A hammer of air was Conjured out of Thordan's paw, but was just stopped from smashing the mole's head in by a shield, also seemingly of solidified air. No sound was emitted from the impact at all, as both combatants prepared their next moves, which clashed against each other before the pair knew what they were, staggering back as if cut with an actual iron knife.

But it soon became clear that they, Recorder Dagbert of Duncton and King Thordan of Dravania, were planning to do to each other. They were trying to sever the other from embracing Seercraft, but ran into each other's flows of aether!

If anybeast not a Conjurer nor a Thaumaturge walked into the room the two were in, say Bodvar Waycaster, they would have witnessed perhaps the staring contest with the highest of stakes to ever occur. None would have guessed that it was a duel, perhaps to the death. Warriors sang with swords and diplomats danced with words, but this was a duel as intense, perhaps _more _intense, than the others.

"All your planning shall come to an end!" Dagbert smiled, earning a puzzled look from Thordan. "Time has been wasted on the both of you. Too much time" But it has become apparent that Dagbert was taking not to Thordan, but the immobilised fox. "I mean for you to pay, me Emmeroloth. Isangrim, Pallpelt, Darkening Cloud, whatever!" The mole's voice started to deepen as Thordan pushed harder, forcing him to do the same. 'You have led to ruin enough!"

"Ruin?" This taxed voice belonged to Thordan as he stepped towards the downed fox. "I have no idea what you mean."

Dagbert growled as Thordan got one small step closer to clamping his trap over Dagbert, before the mole halted his advance."Your foxy little friend had destroyed all too many lives! Long ago, there was one world, and its inhabitants wielded both branches of magic freely. However, the world suffered a world was split into seven, six of them are mere Shards of the original world. A sole ratmaid was cast off into the Rift between the worlds from the Windshard, and was saved by an otterking who had the gift of a seer. Though she was a vermin and he woodlander, she taught him how Thaumaturgy is used. However, being a woodlander, he was forced to use Conjuration like Thaumaturgy, yielding results that are far and few between. It was only when the ratmaid passed on and the king took on a vulpine apprentice shall more be discovered, while the moles of Duncton figured out as well. Then the two proceeded to rent these worlds apart one by one!"

The mole's voice continued to sink deeper and deeper as he blathered on and on, but Thordan was no longer listening, continuing to walk step by step towards Isangrim despite the strain. _Are you truly that confident that you would win, Recorder? Why do you talk? Are you looking for an opening to throw all your strength at me?_

Both sides were starting to sweat. There was quite a lot on Thordan and on Dagbert's face as well, slowly dripping from forehead and muzzle to the ground.

_That's it!_ Thordan almost jumped up with the revelation. It was not anger deepening Dagbert's voice! It was strain! It was tiredness! Dagbert did not throw his full might into his cage because he simply could not. He was already using his full strength! He was wordy because he needed a distraction, because they were at a stalemate!

They were equal in power!

Thordan picked up Isangrim's glass wolf. "Oh yes, the vermin and woodlanders both have their Augmenters and Amplifiers, but-" Dagbert could speak nary a word more as the otter hurled the wolf at him. The figure hit Dagbert between the eyes before the mole managed to catch it, albeit awkwardly, in his right paw, but the damage was done, and the force of Thordan's clamp slammed right into the momentarily distrait Recorder.

Dagbert dropped to the floor like a heavy pail of water, and Thordan's legs were too weary and trembling for him to not follow suit. But he still had the presence of mind to mimic Dagbert's earlier moves, and soon Dagbert was bound and muzzled - exactly like Thordan in Kaldos.

He had done it. He had faced a fully-trained seer and defeated him.

On Thordan's left, Isangrim's bonds unraveled as Thordan willed them to, and the fox panted and sputtered, coughing out more droplets of water. Then the duo turned towards Dagbert.

"What are we supposed to do to him now?" Isangrim gave the mole a leering smile, causing him to mumble something through his gagged muzzle.

"I'll have a closer hearing." Before the fox could protest, his Amplifier was blown back to him by Thordan's wind as the Recorder's mouth was unbound.

The mole took a deep breath. "We can still come to some arrangement, if I am freed again. There is much that I would like to teach you."

"I am not sure that I can trust you." Thordan was blunt and terse in his wording.

"Well, all seers cannot lie." The mole prisoner continued.

Thordan turned to the fox. He seemed to be in even worse shape than Thordan was, and looked ready to faint at every moment, yet something forced him to stand. Hatred, perhaps. "Is this correct, Isangrim?"

"Being forced to tell the truth does not imply that he is trustworthy."

"Looks like you would have to follow us back home, then. Isangrim, can you prepare one of those Gateways or something?"

A Pathway did appear, but from the look on Isangrim's face, it was not one of his making. Indeed, another mole ran through the portal, and he held twin swords in his paw.

Finnbarr and Fatch.

The sight of the mole was enough to make Thordan drop his concentration - and run. But he wasn't fast enough - a sphere of gravity pressed him down onto the floor.

And all faded into black.

* * *

Dagbert felt the bonds on his body fade, and those on his mind as well - Conjuration had returned to him. His captors were both unconscious, weakened by days of torment, humiliation and starvation.

"I'm glad you're safe." Arbert smiled as he embraced his brother for the first time in weeks, with Ralos and Slyte emerging out of the Pathway as well. "Nothing much had happened, I take it?"

The Recorder pointed at the downed otter. "Well, Thordan here taught me much. And Emmeroloth kindly informed me about all their plans and secrets. But these would have to-"

The pine marten butted in. "I feel it again. Thaumaturgy is being gripped!"

Dagbert stole a glance at Isangrim. _But he is still out, so the Thaumaturgy comes from. Oh no!_

The four beasts desperately rolled to one side when a bar of crimson flames, as tall as a full-grown shrew, emerged from the wall. Where it struck, everything turned to ash, and Dagbert was lucky to not stand in its way.

The scholar had ample time to form a spherical shield of Wind as Lorelei emerged from the wreckage, eyes red with rage, and the figure of another fox could barely be seen. Shadowbringers in paws, the otterqueen leapt at the shield, and Dagbert expected something being hurled at the dome with Conjuration.

But the impact was of another sort. Forgoing all else, the otter simply tried to punch through the spherule of solidified air, and Dagbert shuddered. Arbert struggled to create a Pathway at the back, and both Ralos and Slyte were ready to defend the shielded moles.

The air's cracks widened, and the mole was clearly straining to keep everything held together. _Fates afire, Lorelei is a tough one! We need something new…_

The solution was simpler than Dagbert had thought, but it still hit him later than when he had expected. With an audible grunt, Dagbert broke the shield himself - then sent the broken, jagged pieces of air towards the unbalanced otterqueen.

Lorelei blocked the little shards of glasslike air, and tried to pounce at the quartet again, but they were gone. They were headed to the Castle of Skulls, and there they would await the Ward.

* * *

Thordan woke up after what had seemed like centuries. His eyesight wandered across the room until they collided with a grey fox.

"Good day. I'm Hersent. Isangrim's apprentice. Nice to meet you." The vixen reached out her paw, which was taken.

"Thordan." No doubt too exhausted to list out his titles, the otterlord was terse. Terse enough not to ask any questions to his seeming rescuer, in fact, but not terse enough to act wholly trusting.

"Relax, Thordan." The otter turned towards where Isangrim was, and he was not in a good state - even worse than Thordan's, in fact. "You can trust her. She's with me."

"Whatever," Thordan rolled his eyes and turned his head to his mother. She calmly made her way to her son - and less than calmly slapped him so hard that his face jerked. "You almost got the both of you killed because you put your trust in the wrong beasts again! How many times have I told you not to get yourself in danger, boy?"

"All too little, mother." Thordan almost spat the last word. "How many things have you kept from me? How many times do I need to suffer because I don't know things that you and Dagbert do?" He tossed the statue onto the ground, and it rebounded before skidding to a halt. "I want nothing to do with seers anymore. Nothing at all!"

Then he ran. Ignoring Isangrim's calls for him to return, he sprinted out of the door and into the hallway, as fast as his food-deprived body would allow. Statues and suits or armour were ignored as he tried to get away from the fort, and all those who sought to control and manipulate him, whether because he was a Swalestrom, or because he was a seer.

Then he barreled into an otter.

Before Bodvar Waycaster could respond or even draw his weapon, Thordan quickly changed directions and bolted down another hallway. Turning back to gauge the two beasts' distance, he saw nobeast chasing him, and sighed with relief as he continued to dash.

His relief would soon be proved to be short-lived, as he tumbled down a flight of stairs, landing with an audible 'crack'.

* * *

"You shouldn't have treated the boy so harshly, Lorelei." Isangrim mused. "I doubt he will obey you ever again."

"I know Thordan better than anybeast else, and-" Lorelei was cut off by a tap on the shoulder, given to her from the black furred fox. She turned her head, but her face never stood a chance against the black paw which connected with her jaw. She fell onto the floor as easily as a stone.

Isangrim nursed his own snout, which was also in pain. The two had Bonded back before Thordan's birth, and he now feels everything Lorelei did pain included. "If you have the nerve to physically hurt your own flesh and blood after he had already suffered horrendous torture, then you don't really have a right to raise him, do you?"

Lorelei said nothing, as she rubbed her jaw, definitely grateful that all her teeth were there.

"Your father tasked me to protect him, but never, and I mean _never _had I imagined that I have to protect him from you!" Isangrim took a deep breath, but failed to calm down. "I see, at long last, why nobeast seems to like you, despite everyone respecting you! And I see that -"

Hersent coughed quite loudly, and all other heads in the room turned to her.

"Er - I tracked Arbert's aetherial signature to the Earthshard, and it's in their version of the Lands of Ice and Snow. Judging by the hastiness of their retreat, it is in our interest to pursue."

"Could be a trap." The other fox gave a bitter smile, still trying to remove his jaw from his imaginary pain.

"Well, It's just that of a great opportunity." Lorelei proved to be more enthusiastic. "Besides, we now know where they are hiding - when they're not in Duncton, of course."

"Alright. We'll do it. For Thordan." Isangrim raised his glass wolf up, and punched through the Rift separating the worlds.

And the three stepped through.

* * *

**A/N: New favourite chapter! And Thordan actually does something! Yay!**

**Responses now!**

**Sebias 28: Sigrun _is _supposed to be Thordan's sister, after all. You won't be happy when your siblings are kidnapped... Oh, and she would have to take control sooner or later. She's the only Swalestrom left in Kaldos. Morag's a girl, by the way. And Godred being thrown into the sea was quite satisfying. Egil and Alfyn are a pair of actual friends in a world of intrigue - Thordan's lucky to have them. I mean, he's kinda short of luck now, but you get the idea.**

**Sebias 29: Yeah... why would I kill Isangrim here and now while there are so many other places to do so? Locked in a box with a stinky fox? Yeah, horrible fate. At least he's not in the box anymore. And Isangrim being broken? Well... the higher you fly, the harder you fall.**

**This was one of the hardest chapters I have ever written, due to the torture, the fighting and all that. But I liked the result, and I am very glad that the effort put into this was not wasted at all.**

**Chapter 32 (**_**Meteor**_**) shall be unleashed on 30/31 October!**


	32. Meteor

**A/N: Alright. This time, I'll do these things on the top, as this is the last chapter of this Book.**

**Review responses are always here.**

**Grey 31: Come to think about it, the torture was a bit too much. Though seers have a resistance to Pressuring, and Dagbert thought that the only way to control Thordan was to break him... icky stuff ensued. Lorelei being a bad parent is definitely a thing - victim-blaming your own son? Old Thordan would like a word or three thousand with her...**

**Taciturn 31: Hi there! Nice to see you as well! Isangrim being loyal to Thordan shouldn't be so surprising - after all, the elder Thordan told Isangrim that he should be protected, and Isangrim almost let Thordan get Pressured by Dagbert. Oh, and it's a trap!**

**The final chapter of Book II cannot be done without the help of Keldor, so you are thanked for you many, _many _contributions.**

**Now, without further ado...**

* * *

**Meteor**

* * *

**CHILLGRAVE, KINGDOM OF ICE AND SNOW, THE EARTHSHARD**

The four figures ran up a flight of stairs, mossy and creaky after seasons of neglect.

"You _spanked _Emmeroloth?" The first of them spoke. He was a pine marten with fur as dark as pitch, and had a sense of humour to match as well.

'Well," the second and third were both moles, but one was in 'seer gear', as they put it, and the other was in plate armour. The second beast continued. "I thought of the only way to break Arbert, then applied it on the fox."

"Very funny." The other mole raised his brows and rolled his eyes. His failure to retain Verminfate was not the first failure he had received, but he took it with stride. After all, he had Finnbarr and Fatch. What need is there for a sword so big that he could not swing it without leaving himself open?

"I think he is being completely serious." The fourth beast was the only one doing nothing but running for now, but him being the fifty-seven season old General Ralos Farin, he was the slowest of them all. "Humiliation must be applied to pride like a bandage to a bad wound."

"Hey! If it works, it works!" Slyte failed to suppress a laugh when they reached the tower's top. Castle Chillgrave was a massive structure built of sandstone on the whim of a wolverine king, aspiring to imitate the Amplifying power of Redwall. A pity he did not know about Redwall's actual secret…

The tower they were on was called The Grasping Claw, back in a time when the castle was not abandoned, when there were slaves hauling bricks up towers, and kings decorating corridors with skulls of all species, woodlander and vermin alike. But it was merely a shadow of its former self now. Only the most intrepid of explorers and children dared to come here, and most returned… but not the same.

Which made the whole place a good base to strike out from, at least from Ralos's perspective.

Peering down from the tower, Ralos could almost see everything without a roof over it. Other towers, claw-shaped and sharp, jutting out from the land itself. A courtyard, neglected for six whole seasons, teeming with all the wrong sorts of plants (all withered now). A quarry from afar, where sandstone's supposed magical qualities were reaped from the earth. The sea, stretching towards where Ralos' old eyes cannot see. And the walls. The castle could very well be envied by Triel or Southsward, will walls as study and thick like this. And this masterpiece was commissioned and built by _vermin_!

"Alright." Arbert took on his leading position. "I sensed a presence. A strong aetherial signature. Undoubtedly Emmeroloth." His subordinates nodded.

The Warrior continued. "Once they open their pathways here, we will be waiting for them. Dagbert, you'll head to Ishgard. Ralos, Slyte, you two to the tunnels. Stop anyone from entering." Arbert pointed to himself. "I'll stay here, looking out for the fox."

"We got that." Dagbert opened his Pathway and appeared in another tower, this one not as high as the one Arbert was on. Slyte opened his own Pathway, then he walked right across it into a tunnel leading to the sea, with the squirrel in tow..

"See you on the other side." Arbert softly said as everybeast took their own positions.

* * *

Finding their way to the docks was the easy part. Isangrim's skill with Pathways had improved since the last time he went adventuring in another world, and Lorelei was grateful for that. She could not grasp or embrace Conjuration enough to open one.

"They must be up there." The fox gestured at the castle.

"I sense Conjuration." Lorelei's ears and hackles raised. "Two sources. Water."

Suddenly, seemingly in an instant, the waters around them rose in two gigantic pillars. Waves, they were, and they were as tall as beasts. _The moles have Amplifiers, but how could they be so infernally strong?_

Before the waves converged, Lorelei saw Isangrim had barely enough time to slink into one of his Pathways, while the waters took everything - the docks, the pillars, and even Lorelei herself into the depths.

The waters were black, lightless, churning, and even the most accomplished of swimmers could not fight such a tide. But she would _not_ die here! She was a queen of her own realm, and the daughter of the most powerful person in the entire Source! But she could do nothing against this terrifying force of nature. Hunks of wood seemed to fly around as the world spun around the otter, and soon her eyesight seemed to dim.

_Remember your training, girl. _King Thordan's voice leaked into her ears. But what could she do, if not fight? Her father fought, Corrado fought, but what could she do?

The answer seemed to come in the form of her other son's books.

_If you cannot attack, defend._

_If you cannot defend, flee._

_If you cannot flee, surrender._

_If you cannot surrender, die._

_Thordan yielded to Conjuration, and became all too powerful. If that frail little boy can, I will._

Then she did what she thought was impossible, as the waters took away all breath.

She surrendered completely to the will of the Fates.

Conjuration filled her - she _let _Conjuration fill her as bubbles of air converged around her, and she drifted up like the pieces of wood around her. Clutching one of them in her paws, she took a deep breath and waited for a moment to aid her Bonder.

But not now. It was rest she needed. If only for a minute. Or two.

* * *

To be honest, Hersent was quite nervous about this whole 'battle' thing.

She knew who their enemies were - seers who would like nothing more than Southard dominance over the Southern Realms. Why they would want that, Hersent knew not.

The tunnels below the castle were like a maze, Hersent thought. _And if I just stick to the walls on the right… I'll find the exit!_

She trudged along the cold, slimy ground, moistened by decades of seawater, and went into the deeper regions of the castle.

* * *

Cursing under his breath, Isangrim appeared on the walls from his fifth Pathway. He could feel his Bondbeast struggling not to drown, and could only offer silent prayers to her - and keep calm for her. She would not need more panicking, from his side of the Bond or hers. That would do no good for the both of them.

He could also feel Thaumaturgy being gripped by two others, two others that did not seem to break into fighting yet. One was Hersent, already in the castle. Who was the other?

_Must be the one who killed King Thordan, then._

Though he could only feel the torrent of Thaumaturgy rush through far, far away, but it was not him that they were after. Isangrim prayed to Vulpuz that he would reach Dagbert before everybeast else. He longed to see the mole die, or better yet, beg for his life, but he would have to reach him first.

In the end, though, he had no need to do so, as the moles stepped out of their Pathways and lifted up Finnbarr and Fatch, hastily dropping into battle stances. Glass wolf in one paw, and wooden staff in the other, the black fox reached for Thaumaturgy.

* * *

Slyte slunk through the cold passages of Castle Chillgrave, as he knew the others were fighting. The battle had been joined, far, far away from the duo, yet all they did was walk. Thaumaturgy was being held in one place - the walls, and sometimes he sensed another. Had they received another recruit? Slyte could only hope that they would not have turned another vermin seer against them.

Dagbert and Arbert were the only beasts in his entire life to treat him acceptably well, and Slyte would be grateful - though the riches they offered seem to have clouded his judgement for a bit. Ralos was the slowest of them all to warm up to him, but that was still to be expected. The squirrel had used the most of his life to fight against vermin, and working with one had not really crossed his mind. Yet still, they were quite good as a team, and Ralos seemed grateful.

But then, he could have had a more leading role in any other organisation. He was the only Thaumaturge on their side, but he was simply seen as 'the vermin' in Floret or Duncton. Just because the moles were technically nobles, and the squirrel was older than his father, did not mean that he was to finish last.

Pawsteps startled the resting pair. Ralos reached for his scythe, while Slyte kept a paw on one of his daggers, and the other paw on the Augmenter Dagbert took from Emmeroloth.

"Can you help me?" The creature stepped out, revealing her features. Her long and narrow snout and pronounced ears labelled her as a fox, even though her grey fur was different than most of her kind's orange or red. "I was exploring the castle, then I got lost." Her voice was lighter than the average fox, childlike, even. "I must have left my equipment somewhere, and-"

"You do know that this is a strange place to be exploring," Ralos snorted. "And are you aware that you are too young to be here?"

"Yes!" The vixen chirped. "But I don't think I care a lot about these things. Can you tell me what all this commotion is about? There seems to be a battle going on."

"Well, lass, somebeast wants to break into the castle, and we-"

As Ralos spoke, Slyte felt his blood run cold. He revealed his dagger, and the grey vixen gasped in surprise.

"She's a Thaumaturge!" A dagger flew from his paw, which she nicely dodged, and a circle of ice materialised around the three - the vixen's work.

She wanted a battle to the death, and Slyte found himself very interested.

* * *

As Emmeroloth spun the ring of fire around the two moles, Arbert knew exactly what to do.

Conjuring the greatest of winds, he sent the flames back to the fox. The flames should do no damage at all, but the heat would travel back to its maker.

And travel back it did. The fox groaned in pain for a split second, but apparently, he was used to it, and soon bolts of lightning emerged from the skies, forcing Arbert and his brother to bid a speedy retreat. When he turned his head, Isangrim's clothing was singed, yet the beast was evidently not harmed, though cursing profusely he certainly was.

_This mode of warfare would require more… psychological methods._

"Well, fox, this is not the first time you found yourself in a sticky situation. If you consider yourself lucky, only one of use get to spank you until you beg for us to stop again. But if not-"

The mole's taunting quickly stopped as a massive cloud of mist suddenly emerged from just in front of Arbert, resulting in an explosion of purple.

A whiff of the gas made Arbert collapse to his feet, coughing and sputtering. _Poison! Emmeroloth knows its making!_

Feeling a possible impact from Emmeroloth's wooden staff whistle past his ear, Dagbert got to his brother, who simply fell limp. Before their foe could do anything, or even say another word, the moles stumbled through another Pathway.

* * *

Hersent was never one to laugh in the face of danger, and she never intended to to as such. _Maybe taking on two at once is not that great of an idea…_

Ralos the squirrel shied away from Conjuration attacks in order to simply use his scythe, but he was not too fast for the grey vixen. The slippery floor did not help manners for the woodlander, as he battled this lack of friction caused by a rapidly freezing battlefield as hard as he did the Thaumaturgic vixen.

The marten, though proved troublesome. Being in possession of the little tin box meant that he could effortlessly overpower her if push came to shove, but she had the element of surprise. He was forced to divert his energy towards the narrower realm of physical fighting - which was little comfort for Hersent.

Wreathing his twin blades in the power of fire, Slyte leapt at her, which she blocked with a narrow shield of ice. Vapour quickly emerged from the contact, and the fox leaped back, eagerly waiting for a second blow from the second vermin.

But that blow never came.

Instead, a massive scythe, levitated with wind, was thrown at her with all the strength Ralos could muster. She could only gasp as a fatal blow was narrowly missed, but she felt the line of metal scratch against her face.

Then came the taste of blood, and by then she had fled through a Pathway, leaving her at where she started exactly three minutes ago, but with a massive gash down her face.

_If this doesn't get healed quickly, I'll die!_

Casting away her panic, she began to open another Pathway, slowly and securely.

But the time for running is over, and she will stand and fight. Until the day of her passing.

* * *

'You worried me for a second." Lorelei smiled as Isangrim sat down on the castle walls, exhausted after finally driving away his twin assailants. "I could feel you drown!"

"Well, can you feel me _not _die?" The otterqueen winked at the fox, who stood up. "You don't need to talk to me about doom and gloom every time you feel it from me!" She sniffed. "What about Arbert and Dagbert? Where are they?"

"They retreated. I used a foul blast on them, and they slunk away to heal." Isangrim spat. "Arbert must have known the consequences of taunting. Coward."

"We need to go after them! Now!" Lorelei felt her fists tighten as she felt what Dagbert did to Isangrim again. The spankings were horrible, and it would have broken Lorelei had _that _been done to her. But they still have the moles to defeat - thoughts on bloody vengeance must wait.

"Isangrim, can you take me to the tallest tower?" Lorelei turned her head back to the fox, who was in his own pensive thoughts.

He was clearly not listening.

"Hersent has fought their vermin." Isangrim trembled. Two sources of Thaumaturgy are being used close to each other! She's in danger!"

The otter huffed. "Alright. You'll drop me anywhere in the castle. I'll try to be a normal otter and walk. Happy now?"

"Very much so." The fox carved open all space to reveal a narrow room, with cupboards, fireplaces and even a big cauldron.

A kitchen, with windows towards the open sea.

"I will go for my apprentice, and you get to punch the heavens out of moles. _You _feeling overjoyed yet?"

Lorelei felt the corners of her mouth rise before she could control it. "Obviously."

* * *

During his first ascent into Ishgard from the Great Hall directly below, in his second sojourn into another world, Dagbert deduced that the tower's name meant 'Tower of Ice' in some Otharnic or Dravain tongue, and Dagbert was quite surprised that somebeast up north had named the tower like this.

_The fool who built this clearly has no qualms about being identified as a clearly obvious villain._

He tried to scan for Conjuration, but could only sense a weak 'scent' somewhere underground - definitely Ralos. Dagbert wondered if they were alright - Ralos, of all beasts, using Conjuration was not a good sign.

Dagbert tensed.

Rapid, heavy pawsteps can be heard bit by bit as somebeast decided to ascend the narrow, clawlike tower.

They stopped.

Then he could sense Conjuration being embraced.

_Then_ the stone under him tumbled down as a very angry otter punched through wood, brick and stone.

Dagbert quickly formed a shield around his body split seconds before Shadowbringers could destroy his bones. He had used it before, but this time there was not even one ball of blazing fire to warn him.

He should have been less surprised when the shield almost broke at the moment of her impact, but he broke the shield and sent it back at his assailant, just as he did back in Dravania.

But the shards of the shield never reached Lorelei, as Dagbert simply forgot about the otterqueen able to form shields of her own. Within a second, the mole was the one who had jagged, sharp slivers and shards of solid air hurled at him.

Instead of expending more energy, Dagbert weaved his way between the fragments of air. Skidding across the wooden base of the tower's top level, the mole found himself at the edge of the circular building.

Which is exactly where Lorelei pushed him off.

* * *

_This little vixen's putting up more of a fight than many of my soldiers!_

Twisting away from a blast of concentrated ruin, Ralos threw himself onto the bleeding fox, only for her to send another spell of the same make towards him, causing him to crumple onto the ground, a paw on his shoulder.

Slyte attempted to move closer, but _somehow _a wall of ice barred his path, forcing him to retreat across the Pathway the vixen had made, and to where Ralos slowly rose.

"Give up, vixen." Ralos was not used to being the negotiator, yet here he was. "If you would surrender, perhaps we can heal your wound, and train you properly - or something like that."

The grey vermin was not having any of it, as she sprinted across the room to her Pathway, crossing over to another part of the castle.

'"Wait!" Slyte and Ralos could do nothing but halt mere paces before the portal as the Pathway was closed, not vertically as in normal Pathways, but horizontally.

Ralos knew the significance of the vixen's last move, but he was too late to stop her. He scarcely had enough time and energy to form the shield around himself and the marten as the entire room exploded around them.

A great roar blasted into Isangrim's ears.

When the explosion hit Isangrim's nose like an explosion, as explosions tend to do, the fox raced towards the room. It used to be decorated with carpets, cushions and a marvellously crafted table, but after the castle had been abandoned, it was a shadow of its former self.

The explosion ruined all the beauty that remained of the room. Walls were reduced to rubble, and all the luxury of the room were either coated in ashes, or _became_ ashes themselves.

In the middle of the room lay an unconscious vixen, a massive scar overtaking her head and almost her entire body burnt to a crisp.

"Hersent!' Isangrim rushed towards his apprentice, who said nothing in reply. _Great Vulpuz, please let her be alive._

She seemed to remain unresponsive to him, as the black fox finally realised what had happened. She had tried to destroy a creation of Thaumaturgy, and thus released a mighty blast upon this world, and in this castle in particular.

Admittedly, healing had never been amongst his talents, but he seized Thaumaturgy anyways, and tried to reduce the size of her wounds. Every single time he opened his eyes, the slash on her head seemed less red, less hot, and the burn marks she bore seemed to fade into oblivion as well.

The vixen stirred, first slightly, then she bounced awake.

"Master Isangrim!" She tried to stand up, but fell back down onto her legs. Her paw found Isangrim's as she mustered enough strength to stand.

'Hersent." The elder of the two foxes looked at his apprentice pleadingly. 'Please do not do it again. Do not undo a Pathway in haste!"

"I would do that only if lives are at stake, Master Isangrim." She attempted to break into a jog, but her legs took a while to obey her.

Isangrim tried to approach her, only for an open paw to be shown to him as she turned her head towards her mentor, the big scar still on it - she needs a woodlander to deal with it. "I can fight still, Master, and I will."

"Then we go." The two rushed towards the heart of the castle.

* * *

"So we just wait here until Lorelei comes down?" Arbert asked. He had managed to save his falling brother by conjuring a cushion of air to protect him, and Lorelei still had no idea that he was still alive.

"Yes," Dagbert gave a sudden nervous smile. "And then we blast her with Water and Earth."

"A trap." Arbert found himself repeating the obvious.

"Once we-" Dagbert turned in the direction of pawsteps coming their way, and two foxes coming straight at them, clearly well-prepared.

Twin beams of fire and ice launched themselves at the moles, but their targets rolled out of the way, narrowly avoiding being burnt and frozen in one go. Dagbert was about to call his winds when Lorelei slid down the tower staircase, eyes blazing red with rage once more.

The effect of her arrival was mitigated by another Pathway opening, revealing two beasts with clothing almost completely burnt away. Slyte limped out of the circle, with an almost burnt out Ralos in tow.

They looked more burnt that what was expected to be found in a kitchen.

Seeing her chance, Lorelei rushed towards the weakened squirrel, twin Shadowbringers in paws. Dagbert managed a shield of air while Arbert crafted a wave of healing over his two weaker comrades.

The entire dome of solidified gas trembled and shook as the otter in Bloodwrath pummeled the shield until cracks of it seemed to fall off with every hit, only for her to stop.

Dagbert was nearly spent when he saw the spear of flame conjured by Emmeroloth, but Arbert's two accomplishes were healed, and was able to form a shield of his own, rending it apart and sending the pieces back, driving the otterqueen into the back of the room.

So Dagbert saw fit to surrender.

Not to Lorelei.

Not to Emmeroloth and his upstart apprentice.

Not even to Conjuration.

Dagbert surrendered to Arbert.

For if the two were to be one, one had to lead and the other had to submit.

Seeing what is going on, Slyte tossed the tin box to Arbert, and surrendered just as well as any woodlander as Ralos proceeded to do the same. Now, Emmeroloth was well and truly caged.

Lorelei let out an audible gasp as she snapped out of Bloodwrath, and muttered a curse; as her train of coherent thought was swiftly interrupted by a blossom of flame, forged from Arbert's Earth, Dagbert's Wind and Slyte's Fire, combined by their link into a single burst of energy in conjunction with two Amplifiers and a single Augmenter.

The three in front of Arbert stood no chance as flames, taller than even the Stalwarts, erupted from everywhere at once, though it was clear to Arbert that only four were created, one from each corner of the room.

Everyone in the room heard the piercing whine of fires exploding around the room, but only Arbert knew that it was the sound of death.

As the fires extinguished themselves, no figure in the room was standing upright.

Ralos and Slyte were unconscious, no doubt exhausted after a rapid healing and their effort in Arbert's gamble.

Lorelei was mumbling incoherently as she flopped across the wall, though her two vermin friends were in even worse states, slumped together.

And finally, Arbert and Dagbert knelt in pain as they finally saw what they had done. Though nobeast had died for sure, the hall was scorched, to the point of inability to be called a room, let alone a hall, anymore.

It was at that exact moment of false triumph that Arbert sensed a fifth source of Conjuration.

* * *

Aligning the pathway, the beast that called himself Emetselk simply walked through like he was never dead.

A mole - clearly Arbert - gasped when they saw him. "You!"

"Yeah, I think I am me indeed." Projecting his cards in a circle, he lit the surroundings in a starry circle, enough to keep his friends going for a while.

"Father!" Lorelei shouted as she stood, unable to keep the secret he had hidden for so long.

The beast that stubbornly continued to call himself Emetselk smiled. "I knew you would know. I'm not exactly subtle, you know." Then he opened another Pathway.

Clearly expecting another attack from the long-dead King Thordan, Arbert barely faltered to produce a shield, tempered with both halves of Seercraft.

But he deceived himself.

The Pathway opened within the confines of the shield, and an armoured stoat stepped through. Fandaniel raised his greatsword, and swung - only to be stopped by a moleand his steel. Blocking Fandaniel's sword-strike with Finnbarr the Sword-Amplifier, Dagbert was able to hold him - for only about two seconds as the tall stoat's sword restruck, cleaving through clothing, sinew and bone.

Dagbert screamed as his right paw was severed from him, but before the vermin and his sword could do any more damage, a burst of wind threw him back to the edge of the room, a shield was propped up, and a Pathway produced.

The beast that was King Thordan Skyward could do nothing but watch as his enemies slipped out of his grasp for the second time.

* * *

This battle did not happen in the mind or dream of another beast.

This battle did not happen in the Rift between all seven worlds.

This battle happened in a world where beasts considered it all too real.

A meteor has been dropped on all worlds, Source or Shard.

The seeds of destruction, long sown, have been watered.

Days of Ruin grow ever closer for the Earthshard, and for the others of its kind.

After all, it is etched.

* * *

**A REALM REBORN WILL CONTINUE IN**

**BOOK III: THE INSTRUMENTS OF DELIVERANCE**

**COMING IN NOVEMBER**


	33. Breaking Boundaries

**A/N: Finally back from rest!**

**Now let's see these responses... golly, this is a lot.**

**Sebias 30: Yep. Nobeast wants the Parman throne - Thordan Skyward got lucky by living to the ripe old age of sixty. Corrado doesn't want the crown because he's not concerned with it, but probably also beacuse of his quasi-filial relationship with Niels. I mean, who else raised him while Lorelei was with Erlend? Erlend's death was peaceful, yes. Hope he comes back in some form - maybe he gets pulled back by Old Thordan? Haha! Fandaniel spanking Isangrim? That would be a sight. And yes. 'lucky' Thordan.**

**Grey 32: Yep. Long one. I've never said that Emetselk was not Thordan in 'Intertwined'. Never. Glad you guessed it. I suppose last chapter was where my fic starts ripping itself apart from Jade's work as well as the Redwall canon. It's good that you liked my writing - action was never a strong suit of mine, and without Keldor, everything would be cringy. Hence, all the telling and lack of showing. Someday I would provide some insight of power levelling (though today is not this day). Oh, and thank you for being with me for two whole books. It was an unforgettable experience.**

**Sebias 31: King in a Barrel! Thordan is never going to live this down - but he gets an awesome moment, so no harm done, I guess.**

**Sebias 32: I broke the 100K limit! This was not what I intended to do, but I'll take it! And yes, it IS fun cooking up theories. I can only say that I ended up ending Book II with a nuclear blast. After all, this is not typical Redwall fare, but I guess political intrigue and dysfunctional (woodlander) families are not either. I'm glad that you encouraged me to write on that March morning, and I cannot thank you enough for that.**

**Keva 31: Thanks! Even butt-monkeys deserve to win once in a while - Isangrim may be too smug for his own good, but he is smug for a reason.**

**Now, the chapter begins. Though Book III probably won't match Book II, let nobeast say that I did not try!**

* * *

**Book III: The Instruments of Deliverance**

**Breaking Boundaries**

* * *

**KURBURG, KINGDOM OF PARMA**

Bertil had never seen such pomp and finery ever in his life, so he could say that he was lucky enough to guard Lord Sverker in his grand-uncle's coronation.

Twoscore and three beasts have worn this crown before, woodlanders all of them, and Niels had been the eighth consecutive otter to do so.

Of course, the creature himself was kneeling still, yet exhausted after a night of sleepless vigil. But every crown has its price, and if Bertil was asked, he would stay clear from one.

The officiator (or crowner, as Sverker put it for the less educated Bertil) was always another elector of the same species, or the Grandmaster of the Shieldbrothers if the crowned was not a mouse, otter or squirrel. In this case, Queen Lorelei was supposed to back from Taralis, but she was nowhere to be seen.

If the realms were in more peaceful days, other kings would have come to this magnificent ceremony, or the merrymaking immediately afterwards. The Old Parmans have always claimed to be rulers of the entire world, the title bestowed upon them by Great Seasons, but their ever-growing list of conquests ended three hundred seasons ago - until Thordan the Second, called Wonder of the World, Astrologer, Hellspawn, and many other names, but he _earned _all of them by his numerous deeds. But in the end, he _barely _held on to everything he had won, and almost lost everything he was born with the process. "All great beasts," Lord Sverker said to Bertil once, "are buried in better tombs, but they die all the same."

Grandmaster Otto acted as Lorelei's stand-in in the meantime, though he was still himself, and not some noble who was too much like his father - Otto was a merry sort, compared to Lord Canute's endless raging.

"Do you promise to defend the kingdom?" The nephew cried out to the silent halls of Kurburg shrine, kings on previous stained glass windows looking on with approval. Four caught Sverker's eyes, and Bertil's own followed. Henrik Skyward with all his stern severity and his younger brother Radulf's graciousness and generosity. On their opposite was King Otto Crestworth, Niels' father, whose eyes revealed his Hellgates-bent determination and pride.

The fourth king had all these qualities, and was king of Parma for longer than the previous three combined. A mere boy when he received the Garlean throne, and a teenager as young as Sverker when the Parman crown was offered to him, Thordan the Second was the epitome of luck and determination combined in the face of adversity. Had he arrived in this hall exactly three hours late, the Valnainer-raised King Otto would have kept his crown atop his head til the day of his death.

Not that anybeast wanted that, of course. Thordan was a reformist and an expansionist rolled into one - he enforced the Pragmatic Sanction on all Parman territory, ensuring Agnatic-Cognatic Succession Law will be used in all noble titles in the realm, without which his daughter and many other noblemaids could not have inherited anything in Otharn. His passed laws that allowed for vermin to live normally within city walls, and even allowed them to join his ever-growing army. Learning thrived under his rule, as the king himself pioneered the wave of desire for knowledge, which was passed on to his successor. He even enforced education on the commoners - and many like Bertil himself benefited from it. Yet he was also terrifying while he brought awe, like thunder descending from the sky. A bloody-pawed tyrant who deprived lords of their so-called Heavens-granted territories and rights he was called, and he crushed all of his rebellious vassals with cruelty and brutality, with the exception with the Ilsadian mouse.

It was no wonder that even his enemies praised him, though only after his passing.

"I do." Niels normally gentle, but now forceful voice snapped Bertil back from his thoughts.

"Do you swear to maintain the laws of the kingdom?"

Before Bertil could even wonder if the uncrowned king would attempt to undo everything his predecessor have done, another "I do" rang out.

The alb-cloaked Otto Crestworth asked his last question. "Do you give your oath to maintain justice throughout your realm?"

"I do."

"Then bless, O Great Seasons, this king, whom you have chosen and the Otharnic creatures had given their approval!" The taller otter cried out, and in seconds the king had his robes put on for him. Bertil pitied the king. He never wanted the office, but family was important, and there was no better beast to take the job, save the disinterested grandsons of Thordan Skyward.

In a way, Niels was exactly like Thordan Swalestrom. One had raised the other, after all.

Electors started offering more and more to the king. "Receive this sword…" "Receive this ring of royal dignity…" "Receive this rod of royal dignity…"

Then finally comes the crown.

"Receive the regal crown of our own make, and reign as justly as previous kings had done."

Niels did the former, and if Bertil was lucky, Niels will do the latter.

* * *

**GYSTRA, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD**

"That was a good session, Sir Arrioph?" Halric smiled at his teacher as he finally put down his wooden imitation of a rapier.

"Yes, boy." Denebas may have been quite rusty after having practised with nobody but his guards for so long, but the best way to learn is to teach. The mouse in front of him may have been but five seasons younger than him, but he clearly had a desire to learn, and his parents paid well - as nobles or, in this case, rich merchants often do.

"So do I have homework or prep for the following week?" The blue-eyed mouse pup was clearly hardworking, Denebas gave him that. Of all his students, on both the Southard and Dravain banks of the Udso, he had the most potential.

"Just practise Wading for the week." Denebas sheathed his wooden sword and turned to leave. Finding Bodvar Waycaster had been hard without his team, and he will call them back when he had a lead or when Berstraat was rebuilt completely. The former would take much longer than the latter though.

"Wading?" Halric asked. "I thought it would leave you open to an enemy strike?" It was true. Standing on one footpaw and bringing one's blade up was dangerous in actual combat - it can only be used when the enemy moves incorrectly, leaving him open as well.

"Well, you need to practice balance, Hal." Denebas propped up his feather hat - a piece of attire that he had brought here from all the way from Burelas. "What better way to do so than to stand on one leg?"

"Anyways, thank you, sir." Arrioph may have been a poor disguise, but 'he' did his job.

"You are most welcome!" Slinging his pack over his back, they grey squirrel strolled to his next customer on the Dravain side of the river.

_If only all Southards and Trielians are as good as you, would there still be war?_

* * *

**KALDOS, LORDSHIP OF KALDOS, KINGDOM OF DRAVANIA**

The walls of Kaldos have been built more sturdily since they last saw action.

Becker's father, Lord Gavin Swalestrom, had propped this structure up after Triel had gained the enmity of King Otto Crestworth, dragging Southsward into the possibility of being invaded by the Parmans. As Kaldos lay just across Raevsvakt from just across the Sound, which had been taken by Doman forces by diplomacy, the city had to be fortified.

Erlend his younger son had made this city into Dravania's capital after Becker had taken Hildrinn for himself, and for once Becker had to agree with his brother. After all, if Becker was not too busy besieging the city, he would have come here to enjoy the views and foodstuffs that this place had so much to offer.

Parley always came on within three hours of siege, and Gustav Strandsor was always eager to talk - him being one of the few beasts who can outtalk Becker. Alfyn Stalwart came with him, and Becker could count himself lucky that his own niece shied herself away from view. She would need some discipline after the letter and all that.

Of course, being both talkative, friendly otter stereotypes, they had no idea what to do once they stood across each other, Becker at the castle's bottom and Gustav on the walls.

"Hello!" Becker finally hollered at the Dravanian otterlord, who was merely a speck on the enclosure of stone.

Lord Strandsor was obviously in the mood to pretend that Becker was some random knight with some less-than-random army. "Who in Great Seasons are you?"

Becker rolled his eyes. "I am Lord Skipper Becker Swalestrom of the Southsward Otterguard! In whose name are you holding this castle?'

Strandsor smiled - one to rival Becker's own grin. "This is the legitimate property of my one and only master, King Thordan of Dravania!"

King_ Thordan? The boy's in my paws now! Or did he get assertive before we got him? No. Phronesis would have told me about it. Gustav, you sly fox…_

"Do you have orders from your king to hold it in his name? If not-"

Becker was interrupted by a loud voice booming from the ramparts. Alfyn Stalwart. "Well, I do not think that he will be very keen on the idea that you intend to tear down what he intended to build for this whole month!"

"Well, can you just let us in? We have no intention of massacring every single citizen within your gates at all." _Well, not unless you resist again._

"Well, no." Gustav swept away Becker's offer with a swipe of his paw. "You Southards cannot expect me to trust you again, having carried away King Thordan from right under our noses! You can be letting him sleep on silk for all I care, but he belongs to Dravania and her folk, you salty shameless seawater-dwelling sardine!"

_That is one great insult I've never heard about before..._

Lord Rueford stepped up to speak. "Then what are you doing here in Kaldos? This is Southard territory!" To be honest, with both sides fighting for their own freedoms, this is a war with no just side - no right thing to do.

"Mind your own business, conniving compliant collaborator of a kidnapper of kin!" Alfyn screamed at the lord.

"Very well." _It always has to come to violence and death, does it? _"If you shall not relinquish your control over the city and its population, then I have every reason to take it by force!"

A third voice suddenly rang out from behind the walls. "We are not afraid of you!" Another mustelid's head poked out from the ramparts, though this one was distinctly verminous. "Go and boil your bottom, so-called Becker Lord!" The weasel had made the old Dravain mistake of placing titles last. "Foul winds blew you here, and even fouler winds shall blow you back, you and all your Southard k-nights!" The weasel took care to pronounce the 'k', but what can some vermin from nowhere say but random gibberish?

"What a strange beast!" Lord Lorents remarked, clearly displaying the same shock and incredulousness on Becker's face.

But Becker had enough of the tall otter and the vermin. Pointing at Gustav, he raged. "Now look here, my good lord-"

"I care not of what you think, you wishy-washy watermelon-selling window-dressing wetter of beds!" Sigrun. Blasted Sigrun. "The only reason I didn't insult you mother is that she's my grandmother, but I guess my own mother had better luck than her, seeing the teeny-brained bottom-wiper that you are!"

"Enough!" Becker fumed! "To Hellgates with all of you! By the will of Great Seasons, I pray that I may see you all dead before I go to my own grave!"

He swallowed a deep breath and managed to cover his own anger with an eerie calm. "Lorents, fetch the catapults!"

"But they have not been made yet! Our engineers are working on them!"

Becker groaned as the figures behind the wall laughed their hearts out. More wine would not help him crush the city, but it would help with grief.

* * *

**GOROI, BALSAMU**

Losing the strait was a disaster, but losing Godred Swalestrom was a calamity.

The otterking had been blown off a boat (or was pushed or knocked overboard), and his decapitated body, still in full armour, lay there on the beach, his head lying but a few inches away from the rest of him.

That meant that victory was not an option for Lord Guido.

The emissary that had came to Goroi was Orlando or Garlesca, half-brother of the beast who had smashed the mouse's fleet. Unlike his much more active brother, this Truetide was almost completely sedentary, and was one of the few Ilsadians to openly ally with the Parman outsiders - those who Guido had termed invaders.

The otter had married the brother of the Steward of Thavnair (the backwater duchy that King Thordan had seen fit to inherit but neglect to rule), who was inconveniently one of Queen Lorelei's second cousins. Though he is obviously to die without legitimate issue , given his cold relationship with his wife, that meant that Corrado, Thordan's grandson, was in line to inherit even more territories.

That will not do.

"Tell me, Duke Orlando, what terms do the Parmans offer?" The otter was a calm and patient beast, and Guido would do well to do the same, despite his personal dislike of the collaborator.

"Queen Lorelei would like to request your full and complete surrender, to disband your league of cities, and to demolish any fort you hold that she sees fit."

"These terms are quite harsh." Guido remarked as his expression turned pinched without himself knowing it. He contemplated hiding it, but this otter needs to _know _his displeasure.

"You _did _get your navy smashed to pieces, alongside the army on which you placed on it." Orlando rubbed a few claws together, as if Guido needed to be reminded.

"Well, on whose authority to you submit this proposal?" Guido changed the subject.

"On the Queen of Garlesca's, Your Lordship."

"That is your problem." Lord Guido smiled like a wolverine happening upon a mouse. "I am at war with the High Kingdom Parma, and not with any of its vassals - not as a main belligerent, anyway." His grin muted into a mere smile that the otterduke would need even more unsettling. "You need a true king to talk to me like that. A king like Thordan Skyward, and not his daughter who is not worthy to take on a tenth of his skill!"

Duke Orlando seemed to have lost all control of the situation - and there was no Oliphant to blow, unlike his legendary ancestor. "As you wish."

Then he fled with his rudder betwixt his hindpaws while Guido laughed his heart out. The mouselord laughed so hard that tears flowed from his eyes as if they were waterfalls, but he was not aware of the stream.

* * *

**DALAGAB, THE LIGHTNINGSHARD**

"So this is your home now, Father?" Lorelei paced around the halls of the Aetherochemical Research Facility.

The whole place was lit up by thin blue lights, brighter than flames, but they seem to release no heat at all. Lorelei's father had told her and her foxes that these 'diodes' are powered by the power of lightning, which beasts have themselves made out of nowhere.

Little insect-like creatures walked around, walked around patrolling corridors, and they almost knocked Hersent unconscious when she ran over to take a look. Emetselk said that they were 'Arcane' - creatures summoned by Conjuration. They had a basic semblance of intelligence, though the otter laughed when questioned if they can be relied on.

Thordan, or Emetselk as he called himself, lead them to a nice little sitting room with white walls and an armchair, while two figures look silently on, as if they were asleep, but with eyes opened.

One was a pine marten, a female, evidently. She was quite beautiful (unlike Hersent or Lorelei herself), and King Thordan would have made her one of his mistresses if he was still Thordan.

The other was a hare. Tall and lanky, he would have made a nice little commander of the Wide Patrol or something up north. But then, he seemed to be a bit too thin to take up the job.

"Welcome back to the facility, Emmeroloth." The beast who stubbornly called himself Emetselk was still as chatty his he had been in his previous life. "I trust you have made our guests comfortable. Isangrim had never made himself a servant willingly, but everything is an exception with deadbeasts walking around as if they were alive.

"So you really are my father, yes?" Lorelei had _many_ questions, but this was a good place to start. "You seem more livelier than usual - in both senses of the word."

"Ah, you see that my new body has a clear resemblance to my earlier self." The otter in white robes embraced Conjuration, and soon a weird device flew into his paw. A button was pressed, and tea came flowing into his cup.

"_New_ body?" The otterqueen should have expected that her questions to her father would have led to even more doubts.

"You may have noticed that this world has better technology than ours, so I Pressured a few scientists to make a backup body, manufactured from 'stem cells' or something like that, taken from my own form. It is only a matter of time when I perished, but my soul managed to traverse the boundaries between worlds and arrive into my own body.

Seeing his shocked guests' looks, he attempted to summarise what has happened to him.

"So basically I'm just controlling my own corpse."

"Oh," said Hersent the vixen. _'Oh' - what a stupid thing to say! _

But there was nothing else to say. Lorelei may have been Emetselk's daughter, but it is apparent that she really knew nothing about him."

"See these two bodies here?" Emetselk pointed at the woodlander and vermin floating in the liquid tanks, a tube connecting their snouts to the outside world - for air, apparently.

"The hare's your husband, who has yet to settle here, and the marten?" The otter in front of Lorelei made a gagging noise. "The less said about her, the better."

"And the stoat?" Lorelei asked before she could control herself. The beast himself stood up and walked towards Lorelei and Isangrim, or Emmeroloth as her father called him.

"As I recall, you slapped Thordan Swalestrom in the face, did you?"

"Yes-" She could do nothing when his open paw collided with her face. The other side of her muzzle felt the impact as well - the stoat had done the same to the also unsuspecting Isangrim.

Lorelei staggered backwards as the black stoat opened his mouth."Sigurd Swalestrom here, no longer a woodlander. Forgive me this outburst, but if you hurt my brother once more, you would no longer have a chance to do so a third time."

* * *

**A/N: I hope you liked Book II, and I hope to do much, much better with Book III. There is little chance that there will even be a Book IV, so just wait for the sequel, which **_**does **_**exist!**

**Chapter 34 (**_**Forever Lost**_**) will be up on 13/14 November!**


	34. Forever Lost

**A/N: Another chapter done, another break ready to be taken. Seven segments are hard to write...**

**Responses:**

**Keva 33: CREEPY, huh? This isn't the only thing Old Thordan can literally Conjure up.**

**Grey 33: I'm glad you like the chapter.**

* * *

**Forever Lost**

* * *

**SOMEWHERE**

"He's coming around."

Thordan's head swam, from the depths of darkness - to nothing else but more darkness as he felt the cloth around his eyes.

He attempted to move all four of his paws, but found them tied behind him. Struggling, he opened his mouth, only to find that that was bound shut.

Unlike all his previous experiences with gags, his mouth _hurt_ even when he tried to open it. The gag was not the problem - that was no mere sore.

Paws tapped his shoulder, and Thordan turned towards where the sensation was. It was gentler than what he had experienced in his two weeks as a prisoner, but they seemed hostile still.

"Do not move your mouth!" Bodvar the Boring, evidently. "Your jaw's healing."

Jaw. Thordan struggled to remember what happened after the kidnapping, torture, attempted brainwashing, confrontation with his mother and running into Otterguards until he remebered his fall down the stairs. He hated stairs for a reason.

"Hmm?" Thordan breathed? The things around his muzzle seemed too gentle to be a gag - perhaps a strap? Or a splint? They seemed to be more like bandages and the sort…

"Ah, you were trying to escape when you fell off the stairs. Silly beast…" Thordan could no nothing as his headfur was violated by a quick paw. "Anyways, we fed you, bathed and clothed you and we're bringing you to your uncle now. Phaw! How you stank of fox. I guess two weeks in a box alongside a so-called-seer is quite debilitating, right? Thordan nodded. _For both body and mind, yes._

"I can't untie you yet - not until you swear not to escape from us. Alright?"

To be fair, escape was still possible, though with all four paws bound, how was Thordan going to run from three healthy soldiers?

"Well, if you try to escape in any way, we'll simply kill you. At least we tend to be frank about it."

Death _was _welcome, in a way, but Thordan preferred the alternative. He nodded feverishly, hoping that the other otter would take notice, which he did.

"Oh, and remember that an oathbreaker is automatically declared legally dead according to Dravain Law. You sure that's what you want?"

_Better than dying, I suppose. _The lord nodded.

The blindfold was ripped off his without warning, and Thordan squinted at the sudden influx of eyes needed minutes to fully return to their original power, but what he saw surprised him. He was on a little boat, a cog, most likely, and it was flowing down a river, with villages dotting its sides.

The Udso.

"Welcome to the Rubadub, Your Majesty." Bodvar knelt in front of him with a mocking smile. "Birger told me that this wasn't the best of names, but that doesn't matter." He coughed in a stupid attempt to steal Thordan's attention away from the poor name, which somehow succeeded. "Oh, and you need a new name and identity. You can't just walk into the streets saying that you're the King of Dravania, can you?"

* * *

**ORIENCE, DUCHY OF DEILART, KINGDOM OF TRIEL**

"Why?" Garrion kicked over a stool. "Why do these news drift into my ears in happy moments?"

Galen could do nothing has Lord Garrion Swalestrom threw a temper tantrum. At least he's doing it in private, and Galen was the only one to see it.

He was entering Orience in triumph when the news arrived. The city had surrendered, and Garrion had to take it all by himself, as General Ralos was nowhere to be seen.

Still, nobeast could have expected Godred Swalestrom to die in such an ignominious way - being blown off a ship, than decapitated by some random islander.

"Well, my lord-"

"Silence! I need time for myself!" The lord sobbed aloud. Galen knew not to interfere in these matters - the lord was secretive, and 'time to himself' was something he needed often.

Galen waited as the lordling continued to cry as he recalled older times, all spent playing and learning with his siblings, and even some of his cousins. Bellamy is his only sibling left, and soon she would have to leave the household, married off like maids are done here. Not like back at home, where marriage was all about love…

"My lord." Galen approached the lord step by step, his paws trembling. He had built up a sort of understanding with his commander, and some might have called it friendship. Though this relationship was definitely not as close as Dirk and Ralos, the rising commander was sure that his lord would heed his advice.

"You are not the only beast to have lost kin to the enemy. Hundreds, if not thousands, of beasts saw friends and family die in the battles they fight!"

"I know this, Galen Snowpath!" Garrion had not used his full title in months. "I know this, and I weep, and I hate myself for this! Lords are supposed to be strong, and I'm first in line to the Southsward Otterguard! I would not - I cannot be weak!"

"I've lost a friend before." Galen whispered. Dirk knew, but nobeast else. "He died protecting me for the last time. There were some times that our friendship ran into difficulties, and we argued, and he even ran from me once! We made up, journeyed through woodlands and tundra, and I couldn't have made it without him! Then he died, and all that I remember is a name!"

Garrion's sobs ceased. "A name? You couldn't remember anything now?"

"Yes. I cried for days, but that did nothing. It's fine to cry sometimes, Lord Garrion, even if you know that tears do nothing. It's alright.."

"What is your friend called? Perhaps I can help find his family, and…"

"I don't think I am supposed to tell you. He would not like it."

"Then I allow you to keep it a secret, Galen."

"Lord Garrion?" Galen looked his liege in the eyes. "There is something my friend would have said to me if I lost my sister." He watched the older otter's ears raise in interest. "Take what you have, celebrate what you saved, and mourn not your losses for long."

"Thank you for your advice, Galen. You can go now."

The otter walked out of the room, every footstep like a deafening belltoll. _Thank you, fox. Thank you. _He walked without turning back. _Take what you have, Keetch, and celebrate about saving me. I'll not mourn you for too long. I promise._

* * *

**DUNCTON, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD**

"That should do." Dagbert rubbed his iron gauntlet, used as a Conjuration-powered prosthetic. He would not return to Floret soon.

"The forge rarely makes items not to your desires, brother." Arbert said. He had stood in his childhood room's corner for forty-five whole minutes as he watched his brother try on his new paw-of-sorts. As long as it can be moved to Conjure and write, all was well.

Slyte had just returned from his search for Thordan in Viksten, and turned up empty pawed. Being not present in Chillgrave, the otter could have escaped the fortress, and found his way back to his friends. Or ended up in chains and presented to his uncle. Or being speared through the gut and let to rot.

Dagbert liked the boy, Arbert could see, and Thordan would have adored the elder mole's company if he did not break out from the Conjuration. The mole would have had Thordan's mental defenses peeled away for it to work, which he did, but Emmeroloth created a distraction that had proved fatal to their plans.

Thordan's disappearance was of little concern though. Dagbert may have lost a paw, but he had not lost his tongue, and he could soon recount all the information that had been extracted by the black fox. Like some data on the Ward, and the younger Thordan's gift in healing, or even some inner workings on the Bonding of seers.

Gifts and talents the Ward had many, but Arbert could never have guessed that coming back from the dead was one. Thordan Skyward was not omnipotent, but with that he walks closer.

_There has to be a way to remove a soul from the world permanently… but what?_

"Are you ready for your journey now?" Dagbert was still worried about the whole 'going to Loamhedge' thing, but that place must have held the answers to a lot of questions. After all, King Thordan of Parma went there when he was younger, and had grown only more powerful as a result.

"I am sure. The Badgerlords spoke of it, and told me to talk before attacking 'the enemy', whatever that meant."

"Well, I did tell you time and time before that you should try to think with your head instead of your weapons, but you didn't listen to me, did you?" Dagbert rolled his eyes at the comment. "It takes the ghost of a badger to change your mind? Really?"

"Really."

The Pathway opened, and Arbert stepped through - not to Loamhedge, of course. He knew not its exact location , and he would have to walk for miles.

Behind him, an iron gauntlet clinked. Arbert turned his head to see his brother wave.

"Well, safe journey, brother. And try not to lose a limb."

Arbert smiled. "Will do."

* * *

**KALDOS, KINGDOM OF DRAVANIA**

"You taunted Becker?" Lorcan knew not to smile or rage, so the rather calm otter who displays little to no emotion had to handle two. "You fools, you jolly fools, you actually did it!"

"Well, he and his reactions were quite entertaining." Alfyn Stalwart smiled at his brother's astonishment. Honestly, he had to do little to aggravate the already irascible Becker. "I didn't know Egil here could come up with so many good insults!" He continued while the weasel beamed, like a child expecting sweets after doing his duties for once.

"Alliteration isn't that hard." Egil grinned at the tall otters like they were not the highest of lords who came from another kingdom, but partner poets.

"So how are the defenses?" Sigrun had become more and more like Thordan since his abduction, though she did not grow close to Egil immediately, like Thordan did.

"Good enough." Lorcan Stalwart managed a straight face before replying. "I managed to turn some of my ships into palisades, so the Southards will have a hard time trying to force their way into Kaldos."

"And the harbour chain?" Alfyn asked.

"Secured. I have three hundred beasts guarding it, and Koerthas shall be my base of operations from now on."

"The Southard ships are much more mobile than ours though." Sigrun moaned. "And Lord Becker has built catapults, not to mention the fact that we're getting ourselves pummeled on the Greatrange…" She paused. "Am I getting too worried?"

"Well, you're better than Thordan, at least." At the mention of their king, all beasts turned silent. Being on the defensive meant that nobeast could be spared to find him, nor can any resources be spared for him.

"I have a solution to our problem." Egil piped, turning all heads towards him. "Of sorts."

"Well, my brother Arn's leader of a band of Dravain and Parman mercenaries, so he could help."

"Mercenaries, hmm?" Lorcan rubbed his jaw, as he did all too often.

"We'll hire them." Alfyn proved to be more resolute in his decision-making.

"Can they be trusted?" Sigrun fretted. "I have no problem with vermin, but mercenaries?"

"If they can swing a sword or spear and fight for our side, we can have them." Alfyn smiled for once. "We will have every beast we need."

"I shall write to him then." Egil leapt off his seat and proceeded to Thordan's study.

* * *

**FLORET, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD**

"She's getting worse." Bellamy whispered in Ellisiv's ears. When the younger ottermaid stopped talking about the two handsome soldiers that she met in Floret, she knew something was up.

"How so?" The two were ever friends, but with Garrion not in Floret for so long a time, even the very lively Ellisiv had to restrain herself - he did not _love _him more than the power he brought, but he was a friend, as well as his family.

Her husband was not a particularly attractive beast - bookish and awkward, and has pride too big for an uncrowned head. But he was polite, and was a dutiful son and brother - which distinguished him from her brother Joar, who had been taken ill on campaign, though on the way to recovery he was.

"She's throwing things at servants now, and she's not had a good night of sleep for three days. She wakes, Elli. She wakes in the middle of the night, and weeps! I worry for her."

"I do as well." Ellisiv sighed. "She's been like this after Godred…" she paused. "After he passed, and she said that she would personally retrieve his body from Lorelei."

"What happens if I die too?" Bellamy put a paw on her sister-in-law's shoulder. "If I get married to somebeast I do not love, and die bearing his child? What would Mother say?"

Ellisiv asked herself this same question seasons before, but she knew the answer for her own mother. As for Lady Anezka, though, the ottermaid can say little.

"She'd be proud of you, even if you marry for love, or even if you don't marry at all." Ellisiv put her own on Bellamy's paw. "Most mothers are proud of their children - if they aren't, then they should be made to."

"I'm lucky to have you around, Elli." Bellamy put down her paw, and wound them together in front of her.

"I am certainly fond of your company." Ellisiv smiled as she looked up towards the Southard night sky.

* * *

**ARNET, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF TRIEL**

"So Duke Erlend really gave you that spear?" Prince Bohemond's voice crawled through the air towards Altayras. As King Garmund's firstborn son, he was expected to be crowned junior king alongside his father, but that would have to wait until he turns sixteen.

"_King _Erlend." His brother stood behind him with a look of disappointment. Prince Wilfred may have been only one season younger than Bohemond, yet he seems almost five years his elder in wisdom.

"Whatever! You sound like Thordan sometimes, you know?" Bohemond grinned at his brother like a serpent while the squirrel watched impassively.

"Can you go without comparing me to him for a week? Please?" The younger brother exasperated by his sibling's antics was an addition to the family who Bohemond and Altayras both seemed to possess.

"Yes, Erlend gave Heavensward to me before he passed away." In a way, meeting Erlend was the beginning of his career, and the end of the otter's.

The next question came out of nowhere. It actually came from Bohemond's mouth, but it would be better to say that it came out of nowhere. "What do you think of him?"

"Er -" Altayras paused. What _did _he think of Erlend? "He seemed kind, and easy-going."

"That's exactly what Thordan said." Wilfred muttered. "Up to and including the 'seem'."

"I think you knew him better than he did." Bohemond was never one to mince around words, but that came as a surprise to Altayras. How _can _he say that? The position of a father was sacrosanct? Could Thordan have possibly failed in his duties as a son? Or did Erlend deny his own child?"

"I would doubt that." Altayras forced a smile. "Thordan's a good son."

"Well, that depends on who you ask. He wasn't exactly his parents' favourite. Being the youngest son… " Bohemond continued to ramble on and on, but Altayras was not in any mood to listen.

Instead, he thought of his own siblings. After all, they were close. Or were they?

That was a question not for Altayras to answer.

* * *

**LEUERS, LAAGMEER, KINGDOM OF PARMA**

The ability for shrews to bicker and bicker amongst themselves was fascinating for Lord Renart.

Southsward seemed like a better place than here, though the closest Renart had been to the kingdom beyond the sea was at Vargo. The king sits on the throne and plays his silent part, while the mighty task of governing is left to five lords behind the scenes.

Renart had also never been to Triel - his kind were not welcome there as well - but he knows that there were at least five mouselords behind the king, and two of these were dukes, which are six beasts responsible for military affairs of the whole realm. Needless to say, civil war was a normal occurrence, though the ascendance of centralising rule exerted a stabilising influence.

Parma's kings are a completely different story. Elected by seven, the unlucky lad cannot expect himself to rule as one. If Triel was 'prone' to civil war, then Parman territory is a warzone. The fox was no student of history, but he could not remember the last time a Parman King spend the entirety of his reign at peace.

But these three kingdoms are nothing compared to the cesspool of discord known as the Laagmeer Autonomous Commune of Shrews.

"I say that we ignore the Parmans!" Blommert shouted for the entire hall of tenscore shrews to hear, despite his voice not being heard over the Council of Two Hundred's. "They can go to Hellgates for all we care!"

"No!" came the reply from a much older shrew. Eimert was his name, and fiery was his nature. "Parmans have never interfered with us for centuries! Why would they do so now?"

"Because the new king's a Doman, you speck!"

"Speck? You're too much of a buffoon to use something more sophisticated, are you not?"

"Well, you insipid, fatuous…"

Renart must have lost the will to listen as the entire room descended into personal insults and even a few punches thrown around. He had asked about troops being lent to him, and began his negotiations with small talk about the political situation in Parma Proper. Needless to say, he had aroused the interest of his audience, though the converse was not true.

"Oh hey." A voice from behind made Renart's bones chill. Isangrim.

"You!" Renart turned his head to see the other fox. He was still dressed in his usual cloak, and was still the black fox who he loved to humiliate. But something changed. Was it just Renart, or did Isangrim actually look humbler than before? And why did he smell of otter?

"Where did you come from?" Renart joked.

"Another world, actually." If that was supposed to be a joke in return, it flew over Renart's head.

"So why are you here?" The red fox scratched his head. "You weren't exactly active in the past few months."

"I've been… er, busy." _Isangrim, embarrassed? This has got to be something new…_

"I have come to encourage the shrews to submit to King Niels." He looked at the shrews, who have yet to bear steel against one another. "The task might just be harder than expected… what's your purpose here?"

"I'm trying to raise a little army here. King Guillame's position gets more and more untenable every day, and I am here to deliver the killing blow to his false regime." Renart pointed a claw at himself. "I don't need your queen. I am an ally, not a puppet, thank you very much."

"I don't think your task can end well, with all the bickering and disunity here." The black fox shook his head in mock worry. "Perhaps you can come back to-"

"No. Nonono." Renart waved a claw at Isangrim. "I have a backup plan, like all foxes should."

* * *

**Thordan being Thordan, he can't catch a break, can he? Oh, and the storm clouds continue to gather high up in the sky… and Keetch gets a mention! Yay! (Seb would get this.) **

**Chapter 35 (_Shattered_****) up on 20/21 November!**


	35. Shattered

**A/N: This chapter was harder to write than the last two, mostly because I was expecting a to take a break the week I wrote it. But the winds of fate keep blowing me back…**

**Review responses here!**

**Grey 34: Nice summary of the chapter, Grey! Sudden Sibling Death Syndrome is a real threat to this world... I hope Sigrun doesn't suffer it again.**

**Keva 34: Rubadub is a nice name for the river, but it's the boat which is called the Rubadub. It's a Bravely Second reference, by the way. Bodvar's not good with names and stuff.**

**Sebias 33: A long one! Niels being crowned will definitely affect the war - Parma is going to have a king again! Nope, Halric has never been referenced or mentioned yet - he's new. Let us hope nothing happens to him. Becker... yeah. Making a fool of oneself is a Swalestrom hereditary trait, it seems. (Will he get the last laugh?) The Wheel of Fate spins too fast for any normal beast to follow, and Young Thordan found himself at the top. But he's a prisoner of Southard forces, and all could only go downhill from here... and the other Thordan can 'control his corpse'! Or, more accurately, his clone body. Medieval beasts won't understand modern science, however, so Old Thordan had to make a somewhat inaccurate metaphor. Oh, and no more Lorelei-slapping in the foreseeable future. I promise.**

* * *

**Shattered**

* * *

**KURBURG, KINGDOM OF OTHARN, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA**

Lord Valdemar expected Niels to follow his orders - no, not orders. He was King of Otharn, after all. Lord Valdemar expected Niels to follow his _advice_.

Niels liked his nephews, after all. He was almost completely devoid of hatred, so a good diplomat he would become, if he would take some time off his pursuit of the vast array of knowledge that he did not already possess.

"If you were me, what would you intend to do to Queen Lorelei and her sons?" Niels' gentle voice rang through Valdemar's ears like a pleasant vielle piece. The otter sat on his throne - the exact throne that had evaded his father through some kind of sorcery.

Valdemar knew this could be a trap - after all, Niels raised the fruits of Lorelei's womb while she was attempting to forsake her duties as a parent. But Niels is incapable of trapping those he shared blood with. Of that, Valdemar was certain.

"Well, I do not intend to do much." _At least they could have their lives intact. _"Well, I could consider King Thordan's Pragmatic Sanction unlawful, null and void, then revoke everything from her - except Garlesca proper, of course. Oh, Corrado can keep what little he owns, and Thordan… well, the pup would be glad to be kept at your side."

"Let's just say that my plans for Thordan is similar to yours, though he would actually love my little creation. As for Lorelei, she could be a problem-"

"Since when have I become a problem?" A shrill, violent voice _ripped _through the air. It was death, death that entered, death and rage.

It was HER.

"Ah, you have seen fit to join us." Niels was utterly nonplussed by the arrival of Queen Lorelei. "You were not there when I was crowned…" His voice was slow, but seemed to hide some kind of distaste.

"We were busy defeating the Valeran League." The otterqueen simply said. She was ambitious, Valdemar gave her that. Fortunately, her son was one of _those _beasts that wanted nothing to do with the Parman throne, and it could be deduced that both his half-brothers were of the same sort, though for different reasons. "All the while you did nothing." Lorelei was not one of those beasts. Thordan had groomed her well, it seemed, well enough to defy kings and be crowned queens.

"The Valerans can be handled with a bit of caution, Your Highness." Valdemar was in no mood for conciliatory planning, but he knew he should. "Dealing with them by violence is not the best of strategies, and the fact that you did that without your king's permission is quite surprising, to say the least."

"Oh, we dealt with them anyways. And I am sure that King Niels would not mind me defeating them completely, would I?" Lorelei offered a challenge. Valdemar's father Lorelei's have agreed that politics is like a card game rather than dice, in that skill and luck have to be used in conjunction. Niels may have had the latter, but he would have to rely on Valdemar (and _only _Valdemar) for help.

"I would not." Niels' face was stone before, but it was more like soft clay now. In fact, he was almost whimpering at the sight of the otterqueen. There was the old rumour that he was in love with his foster's daughter, though this reaction could be attributed to fear more than anything. To be fair, Valdemar was afraid of her as well - not a lot of ottermaids can _be_ that thing.

"Then would it make sense if my son gets a reward for it?" Lorelei grinned like a fox trying to steal perpetually plotting against his brother, which makes sense, considering the fact that she's married to one.

"What do you desire for him?" He seemed likely to agree to any request of hers, which is only natural, since the child was his responsibility, and he ended up as spoiled as a fat weasel under his care.

Before Valdemar could voice his objections, Lorelei's smile muted. Granted, it was still a smile, but this one was more 'caring mother' than 'scheming queen'. "The Viceroyalty of Ilsadia."

"Well, that can certainly be arranged." Valdemar moved to speak, but Niels silenced him with a wave of his paw. "But I am merely King of Otharn, and I have no jurisdiction about matters west of Vargo. I fear that I would have to be crowned in Old Parma before that request can be actually allowed."

"I think I can do that." Lorelei may have looked stunned and flummoxed, but Valdemar was sure that she was unsure of her scheme's effectiveness. Finally.

"But then, Lord Valdemar's going as well, and we cannot risk you two getting into fights every step of the way. Can you embrace her as a gesture of peace, your Lordship?"

"I can do that." With that, he went forth and embraced the otterqueen with all the warmth of a wet blanket. But before she broke free of his grasp, he whispered in her ear.

"Great Seasons grant that I may not die before you are brought to nothing."

* * *

**KALDOS, KINGDOM OF DRAVANIA**

Swords flew and shields flailed as Lord Becker calmly waltzed into the halls of Castle Koerthas.

Around him, beasts were fighting and dying, but he stood. His weapon was always ready, of course, and those of his guards were as well.

But there was no need for the Skipper to fight. After all, four out of nine corpses were Trielians, and the other five were Dravain.

In front of Becker, beasts were lying on the floor, swords in front of their necks. They have seen fit to surrender - a wise choice, compared to being made into a bloody pulp.

Foremost amongst the swordbearers was Lord Rueford, who managed to wrestle a Trielian captain to the ground, the otter grunting in pain as a blade was pointed at his exposed jugular.

"Where is your superior?" Spittle dropped from Rueford's mouth as he waited for the other otter's response.

"H-he fled! Into the fort!" Lorcan Stalwart was an elusive eel, but was he a coward? Becker had yet to know the other skipper, but what he knew told him that the answer to his question was likely a 'yes'.

Becker found himself stretching the already opened gates further as he stepped in the fort like a pirate would have done. He marched past suits of armour, spare pairs of weapons that the guards have failed to reach in time, and a few portraits of Erlend Swalestrom that made him think of his Godred. He tried not to think of him that much after his death in Parma, though the wine helped, he was not successful when he needed success the most.

But tears can wait, and Lorcan Stalwart cannot.

Pushing the double doors of the hall open, Becker saw nothing. No corpses, no blood, not even the sight of a rudder. Rushing forward to check if his eyes deceived him, a letter caught his eyesight. Its placement was too obvious for it to be some hidden word.

Reaching out, Becker picked up the document. On top of the letter stood a seal - a shell on a coat of arms. The House Stalwart seal was ripped off as Becker pulled out its contents roughly.

_Dear Lord Becker Swalestrom, Lord Skipper of the Southsward Otterguard_

_If you are reading this, I am on a barge towards the other coast of Kaldos._

_This island was guarded securely, barricaded, and thought secure. It, apparently, is not._

_I may not know what it is for a father to lose his child, though as a new father, this thought terrifies me. For you to lose two is a tragedy beyond all understanding, and to lose your brother as well is a calamity in total. I cannot imagine the sorrow you feel._

_Nobeast of Trielian stock argued for peace between the kingdoms more than me, but I see your reasoning to start this war - for you, it is a chance to do the right thing, though extreme this measure may be. It is somehow an abrupt rain which clears a musty scent from the air. The suffering that my countrybeasts have caused, that of King Garmund and Duke Somerled in particular, are regrettable, and should have been averted. I regret their many, many transgressions, and hope that you accept my apology._

_I apologise for my compatriots' behaviour towards you in their first 'parley', if it can be called that. They were seeking a confrontation, and they received it. Though nobeast here is in the right, I must acknowledge that your soldiers fight for what they consider a just cause._

_But we know this war has to end somewhere. All realms welcome peace, as they say, and this war is bleeding both our proud nations dry of gold and beastpower. Perhaps a marriage pact between your daughter Bellamy and my brother would be welcome… but if you desire it not, that can be cancelled by your will._

_Another consequence of the war would be the release of Thordan Stalestrom, called by his supporters King of Dravania and your nephew. It is without doubt that his disappearance is your doing. He is the best of friends and has the makings of a great lord, so I beg for his release for your brother's sake._

_There are many paths we can go, but you seem to guide your fate forth, while I merely accept it, hoping the future would change for the better._

_For this, I admire you. May your heart and mind guide you forth._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Lorcan Stalwart, Lord Skipper of the Triel Otterguard_

Putting down the letter, Becker sat down in a conveniently placed chair. Lorcan Stalwart may not be brave, but at least he was born well, and raised well too. The lord decided that he would consider the Trielian's proposals seriously.

Bellamy would object, of course. Unlike his brother, Lord Alfyn Stalwart was not the most well-mannered of beasts. He could easily grow to become as bad as the mouseking he serves under, though something prevented that. She will do her duty, though. Becker would make sure of that.

As for Thordan, Becker should have not taken him away - not without a guarantee from Phronesis that he would be treated well. But it was too late - Thordan was in Viksten the last time Phronesis sent a bird, and the slow pace could mean anything. He could have been sleeping on silk, or caged like a woodpigeon, but a prisoner is still a prisoner.

But where is the boy _now_?

* * *

**TARALIS, BALSAMU, KINGDOM OF PARMA**

_Hey, ho, a fire does burn;_

_Cold is the night for soldiers._

As Eduard played on and on, Corrado had to smile for his victory. He defeated Guido Aldabreschi! The same beast who beat back the Parman tide!

And nothing can be done without Sir Arn Skulason. The weasel sat across him, carefully enjoying his meal. Arn was always a special one, it can be seen. The weasel had a more than mighty grasp on the workings of both fighting on land and sea, and he was a great leader to his followers, being never devoid of charisma.

Soldiers would die for Corrado, but they would live for Arn.

_Under the gates in the shadow of the city_

_Sleep well, if you have no place to sleep_

_No one asks where and where you sleep_

_And cold is the night for soldiers._

"So… where are you headed to next?" Corrado asked. The dinner the two beasts, woodlander and vermin, shared was a muted affair - mere soup, bread, and vegetables, with a helping of woodpigeon, but a warm meal and the good Parman damson Corrado had brought with him prove a boon for any empty stomach.

_Hey, ho, a fire does burn;_

_Cold is the night for soldiers._

Arn swallowed his mouthful of soup-drenched bread. "To the mainland. Probably Vargo, then I'll take a sharp turn and answer the calling of a new contract."

_Follow the bottle, but don't drink too much_

_Your dice are good, but the game is awry_

_Spit in the ashes and watch for your foe_

_For cold is the night for soldiers._

Seeing the silence of the otterlord in front of him, the weasel decided to change topics. "Your bard's good."

_Hey, ho, a fire does burn;_

_Cold is the night for soldiers._

"Good for a king, in fact," the otterlord poured himself another goblet. "But I got him first. How're the ladies going?"

_Leave not the 'friendly' sister too far_

_Only for warmth, for here and there_

_No one in the dark loses his face_

_But cold is the night for soldiers._

Arn almost spit everything his mouth could hold out. "My lord, I have sworn to be chaste until I marry, and I intend to keep this vow. I am not my brothers."

_Hey, ho, a fire does burn;_

_Cold is the night for soldiers._

Corrado knew the difference between Arn and his siblings. While he had only met Eskil once, his brother knew Egil all too well, having been tragged into useless misadventures with him. "Ah, yes. Cecilia. You did tell me about her. I know she must be pretty, but how's she like?"

_Go with the night before the morning mist rises_

_Only the fire glows dim and the stone pavement be silent_

_Leave nothing behind and forget what you saw_

_For the sun soon brings the soldiers._

"She's a lovely weaselmaid, and she's patient enough to wait for me." Arn paused for a long time, which probably meant that he should not say more. For good reason, in fact, Corrado was almost as lecherous as his grandfather back when he was younger, though he calmed down after marriage.

_Hey, ho, a fire does burn;_

_Cold is the night for soldiers._

"Well, as a friendly request, please invite me to your wedding." Corrado reached out his paw, which was swiftly taken by the weasel.

_Hey, ho, the fire's put out;_

_Soon the soldiers shall come._

"May we meet again."

* * *

**DALAGAB, THE LIGHTNINGSHARD**

The woodlander awoke to nothing.

He could barely feel anything, after being asleep for so, so long. But his eyes were opened soon, and they peered into a mirror.

The features on the other side of the glass were distinctly lapine - long ears, small eyes, and a less than pronounced snout and - was that hunger he felt?

That same mirror reflected a pine marten, female, evidently, who wore a look of rage, and more importantly, disbelief, as if she had changed looks somehow. The hare did, after all, but at least the marten was alluring.

Like a needle stabbing right into his head, he heard the echoes of a word. A name, perhaps? Halmarut. A name given by a mysterious, compelling voice. But he could remember nothing else. His memories were spotty, to say the least, during his long sleep, or coma, or whatever it was. Death itself? Probably so.

A third figure decided to show himself (it is supposed to be a _him_) behind the two, causing a graceful turn from the still tired hare and a leap from the irate marten. The black fox was smiling as he caressed a statue of a wolf, made with the finest of glass. Halmarut had met this fox before. But where? He could only remember a joke, and a really large cake, but the other figments of his memories would have to wait.

"Why?" The vermin shrieked. "Why am I a vermin? Why has this been done to me? Why am I having this disease?"

The fox sneered. "You two were given the best samples we have in our possession. You have a fine, strong body. And living is better than…" the black fox cocked his head. "The alternative, is it not?"

Before the beast that was called Halmarut could react, the marten flung herself at the fox, claws unsheathed and screeching like some wildcat stubbing a toeclaw.

The fox quickly flung himself away, then the glass figurine glowed. Scarcely a second had passed when the verminmaid was encased in a layer of ice, with her eyes frantically moving from side to side, but her body failed to respond.

Halmarut's mouth quickly loosened, and he tried to swallow, only for his muscles to fail to respond. The fox spoke. "You will adapt, proud one. The soul bends the body, but the body bends the mind. You are adapting to this body, or we shall simply revoke it, or hand you over to your former kingdom." The marten's eyes spun as she tried to scream.

"You're killing her! Don't you know who we are, vermin? Obey me this instant!" The last command exited his mouth without him realising.

Flames surrounded the marten's face, and soon the vermin's head was free - but not her throat. "Will you submit to the beasts who fished you out from Hellgates?"

Her hoarse voice creaked. "I will." More flames suddenly appeared, and soon she was free.

"Do you two not remember being dead?" The fox asked, as if pondering a rhetorical question from a book of philosophy. "Do you two know the preciousness of life? You two, Arbiter and Phantasm, were not, then you two were. Think of all others, whose souls lie in Hellgates, tortured by Vulpuz, and beyond our salvation." The word salvation seemed to resonate a bit in Igeyorhm's mind, but she soon slunk back into her defeated countenance.

"I am Emmeroloth, the Darkening Cloud. Welcome to the Heaven's Ward. Welcome to your second chances. Welcome to life."

"What for?" Halmarut let his tongue loose. "I could have died a king, but now I live a hare. For what do you want my soul be bound to this world?"

"For bridging the gap. Now, Halmarut, you need food more than all else, which we have plenty." The fox turned his head towards the clearly unfocused marten. "Oh, and you go find Fandaniel. Black stoat. Looks more evil than I do somehow. He'll talk about your mission."

* * *

**Arn's slowly becoming a major player, and a PoV as well! I hope you'll like more of him.**

**Oh, and guess what Fandaniel's mission is!**

**Chapter 36 (**_**Faith in Our Fury**_**) will be up on 27/28 November!**


	36. Faith in our Fury

**A/N: Another chapter finished!**

**Responses here!**

**Grey 35: A gradual de-escalation, hm? That's what you believe... I'm quite satisfied with the Lorelei, Valdemar and Niels scene. That was the first time that a Skyward and a Crestworth had made peace in about thirty seasons, though like you said, a promise of more to come has been made. Becker's scene wasn't as polished as Valdemar's - there's always a bad segment in every chapter. As was Corrado's dinner with Arn, I think. **

**The resurrections are another story. I had fun writing all five of the Warders - Emetselk, Emmeroloth, Fandaniel, Halmarut and 'the other one'. They fit into each other's niches like jigsaw puzzle pieces, and them being sort-of-antagonists make everything really interesting. So Fandaniel's gunning for Arbert, hm? Loamhedge? Now would be a good time to look back to the Salamandastron prophecies...**

**Keva 35: Thanks for reading and reviewing, Keva! I'm not too proud of Lorcan's letter, but thanks for liking it. But where exactly is Young Thordan? Oh, and a revived beast only remembers bits and pieces at first, before they remember everything from their past life - just like with amnesia in real life.**

**Sebias 35 (ADDED): Lorelei may have gained more power, but at what cost? And how does she manage power? The letter. Ah, the letter - I may not have liked it, but I'm glad all of you did. The possibility of the three realms being peaceful seems closer than ever... until one thinks of Garrion's side of things. Thordan getting released? Heh... ****Arn is a truly wild card in this game. There's the thing with mercenary companies - one could afford to hire them, but cannot afford being betrayed by them. Flames, cackling and looming faces! Mystery! And Iggy's here, ladies and gentlemen! That shall allow a bit of clarity to leak into the Source. (I'm looking at you, Abe!)**

* * *

**Faith in Our Fury**

* * *

**TARALIS, BALSAMU**

In the first season of the reign of King Niels of Parma, called 635 by the learned, and called 'this season' by the less learned, a wind rose from the Parman Sea.

The wind blew mast merchants selling their assorted wares, from gold and silver to apples and oranges. The wind blew past innkeepers and bartenders trying to keep their places open in the greatest war which had came to Balsamu in a hundred seasons. The wind blew past beasts who considered themselves normal, who were thankful for this breeze as the hot summer came like a creeping vine.

Another may have commented on where the wind blew - beasts who worked in the old King Thordan's observatories, fisherbeasts who was anxious about where their prey went, and the odd writer who decided that this was the best way to open a first chapter.

But this wind was more important than all others, for it did not just carry the chill air from the North. Flying with the current was a bird - a raven from Raevsvakt to be exact.

The raven flew past everything of less importance and landed on the aviary of Castle Taralis. By landed he did not mean 'crashed' - he was too well trained to repeat this mistake a fourth time - and he squawked for the holder of the castle.

The otter came about six minutes later, his eyes still weary from being roused from his afternoon nap. "Who sent you, bird?"

The raven croaked. "Egil! Egil!"

"Egil?" Corrado tapped his head. A Dravanian name… where had he heard of it? "Where did you come from? Who is the letter from? Who is it sent to?"

"Slowly, slowly!" The bird chirped. Corrado sighed inwardly - his childhood guardian had told him of the small brains of birds - which was coincidentally his grandfather's nickname for Lord Canute Crestworth. The deceased lord wasn't stupid, he merely has want of foresight.

"Alright, bird. Where do you come from?"

"Kaldos! Kaaaaaaldos!" The bird screeched so loud that a punch to its head seemed all too tempting for Corrado.

"Can you just give me the letter and let me read it?"

"NOOOOOOOOOOO!" The raven threatened to wake up the whole castle. _My children would have killed him and sold its carcass if they were within fifty miles of here._

"And why is that?"

"For Arn! Arn!" _How could this bird shout louder and louder?_

"Arn's not here, bird! He's left! Scram!"

"To where? Where?"

"To Vargo, that's where? Now go before I get the cooks and you are filleted!" With that, the black-feathered flew away, against the wind that had carried him here.

Corrado was about to leave when another bird arrived in the aviary. Like the last avian messenger, this one flew from the east, alongside the all-reaching spring winds.

Unlike the one before, this one had two letters attached to it, one on each footpaw.

Corrado grabbed them from the black bird. The one on the left was affixed with the Garlean and Vargon arms, quartered with each other. Lorelei. _Figures_.

Before Corrado could even think of ignoring her, the seal on the second letter changed his mind. Three red leaves of the water lily, enclosed in a white field and a blue border, inscribed within the raven of Parma.

Niels would deserve his attention.

* * *

**BERSTRAAT, KINGDOM OF DRAVANIA**

"How was your day?" Bodvar Waycaster's smile peeked up from the door, causing his prisoner to gasp. King Thordan was never sound of body after he fell down the stairs, his jaw broken in two. Bodvar, having never been trained in the ways of healing, had only seen to it that his captive would never look handsome in the eyes of any ottermaid. To put it simply, the poor thing's jaw was snapped like a branch. The bandages had been removed hours ago, thought the beast who they were applied to has still not spoken yet.

"Bodvar, he's basically a mute!" The captain's brother elbowed him in the ribs as he laughed. Birger was a beast of cheer as well, which made them more than brothers. "He hasn't talked for half a month!"

"Well, we did gag him for twenty days." Pickner returned to the rest of the party, with a tray carrying three extra large meads, and a little cup of _very _diluted wine for the child. "That probably explains the silence."

Thordan had been under the name of 'Baglarr Waycaster' - an imaginary brother of Bodvar and Birger's. Nobeast questioned further - as doing so would be quite the insult to his family - and a good reason to not keep the kid under restraints and guards all the time.

"Well, feeling well, kiddo?" Bodvar looked at the otter. He was clothed in one of Birger's spare uniforms (the alternative is to be naked the whole journey), and his fur was matted and unkempt - hardly the image a king should bear. Thordan's jaw seemed like just another disguise than a permanent disfigurement - though the otterking wasn't fooled.

The King's mind was in a state of confusion, which the wine and his good treatment addled further. Were three good meals every day able to make him start enjoying life again? What had happened that turned his treatment from hellish to - normal, perhaps? Lord Becker being beaten back? Dagbert dead? Peace? Peace could only be had by the return of the status quo, but that would mean that Thordan would never be king in the first place. But even if the Dravain folk rose up and declared themselves a kingdom again, Thordan would not be their king - never. Because if he was king, he would start making error after error, and he would have no choice but to push away his friends if he wanted or not. Gates, he missed them so. He would surrender with the speed of a hare. A quiet place was all he wanted - to be able to walk in a pleasant garden, and being served the food that he liked. After all, what is life without good food and sleep?

What is life without Redwall Abbey?

No, no. The improvement of his life was something else - Bodvar and his companions' eyes had their spirit returned to them. What Dagbert had done to them had been undone after the mole's sudden disappearance.

Thordan nodded sullenly as his head began to hurt again.

_Throw wide the Gates…_

No! It cannot be!

* * *

**LOAMWAKE, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD**

Sleeping soundly had almost been a faraway memory for Arbert, but the one time he actually does so, he paid.

He awoke to a knifepoint, and a leering face of a vole. _Should've Veiled myself..._

"Well, it isn't everyday that we have some random mole lying here with a pouch full of gold, isn't it?" Clearly a brigand, the vole gestured at his followers who emerged from the trees. Holding bows slings and a few daggers and dirks in their paws, they seemed more awkward than anything. If Ralos and his Swordbeasts were not distracted by the war at paw, they would have been slaughtered to a beast - which is still a possibility after the war - or perhaps during it.

"Well, I could always give everything to you very willingly, but where is the fun in that?" Arbert giggled. _Better make them underestimate the true power of a conjurer._

"Keeping your life is quite fun, mole." Arbert was quite aware of the bows trained on him. "Tell me who you are."

Arbert stepped back and performed a mocking bow. "You can call me Isangrim." It was not a lie - they _can _call the mole by the name of his enemy, though the black fox would moan and mope about it all day long.

"Well, Isangrim, would you like to live poor, or die rich?" The vole grinned.

"One can say that it depends on what's in the wallet." Arbert took another step back as he reached for his purse in one paw, and his grimoire in the other. _He cannot gut me here. _"Just let me check, and-" Coins, gold, silver, copper; all of them were thrown high up into the air with a single motion of the paw.

Before the brigand leader could ask any questions, Conjuration was embraced, and a coin whizzed through his makeshift helmet, fur, bone, sinew and brains, and came out of his skull, only to travel into the chest of a bandit mouse.

To Arbert's left and right, beasts were dying as the precious metals they had craved so much flew in and out of their bodies. Into skulls, into lungs, into hearts… The shield of Wind around Arbert stopped the few projectiles that were let loose at him, and the few beasts that took the hint tried to run as fast as they could. But the coins were faster, and soon Arbert was surrounded by corpses, some of them gripping their weapons in their final moments, others empty pawed.

Arbert was in no mood to smile as the full effects of Conjuration overtook him in the form of fatigue, which quickly reminded him of being roused from sleep. _It shall seem that I would have to sleep elsewhere… preferably with a Veil over me._

* * *

**STATION OF CALLING, THE RIFT**

Dagbert sighed as the familiar form of Thordan Swalestrom entered the Station. He had much to do, and winning him over would be downright impossible after he was bested at Viksten.

To be fair, Dagbert had overplayed his paw. The embarrassment of losing a duel with a barely trained lordling served as his punishment.

"You!" Thordan snarled. This was the first time Dagbert had seen him angry- and so did everyone else. The torture was a bad idea.

"I understand that you are angry, but-" Dagbert sensed the clamp around him, Conjuration being cut off completely, if temporarily. It was the Rift, a world of dreams, and no Amplifier was necessary to access Thaumaturgy or Conjuration, though it would certainly help.

"Well, you got that part right." Invisible ropes were curled around the mole with astonishing speed, earning a choked cry as a response. "You have no idea what you did to me, mole. You have no idea about what it feels to be trapped in a box with no hope in sight! You have no idea about what it feels to be bound and gagged and starved in a barrel, then tickled until you piss yourself! You have no idea - where's your paw gone?"

"Well, ask your grandfather, little king." Dagbert would have savoured the look of surprise on Thordan's face, it looking so much like his namesake's own.

"Well, he's dead, and I am not!" Thordan shouted.

"There is much that you do not understand, young Thordan. You may stop me from telling you, but showing you is another matter altogether." Dagbert's eyes scarcely moved as the entire station was surrounded in slick darkness. "May your heart and mind guide you forth."

Then the mole woke.

* * *

**SOMEWHERE**

Thordan was hurtling from the sky.

One moment Thordan was standing on that blasted platform, having everything under control, then a wave a darkness struck, and now he was here.

In front of him was a glowing sphere, faces emerging from it. And they screamed. Thordan covered his ears, but the noises, produced in bursts of agony, still wormed their way in. Then the figures revealed themselves. One by one, their screams ceased as they shot out from the sphere with the speed of a lightning bolt.

A stoat, dressed in naught but rags, carrying a flaming sword in her twin paws. A wildcat with a nasty scar on one side of his face. A fox with a resigned look, weary of everything that has befallen him. _Isangrim, perhaps? After all, their fur were of the same colour._

Tens, no. Not tens. _Hundreds _of beasts, moments ago screaming in agony, were quickly expelled from their hold, while they did nothing to stop it - as if they were dead.

Before he could take a closer look at one beast who looked like another wildcat, he landed with a thud.

Thordan stood up. Green grass surrounded him. A pond lay nearby, with its waters tranquil. Walls surrounded the otter and the ground on which he stood. But what was most recognisable to Thordan was a red sandstone structure, towers jutting out of its base.

Redwall Abbey.

Without a second to clear his mind of the whirl of chaos surrounding him, Thordan opened the gates which were open to all.

* * *

**BERSTRAAT, KINGDOM OF DRAVANIA**

"He can't hold that bit of liquor?" Birger gasped as Thordan Swalestrom's unconscious form flopped on the table.

"Well, he must never had gotten drunk before." Bodvar gestured for the bartender, a squirrel with grey fur. He seemed old enough to bear this colour, and nobeast young could have his grey fur naturally. Not here, anyways.

"Bartender, we've had our fill of beer. How about some mead?"

"Certainly, good misters!" The barbeast was more polite than any in his profession Bodvar had ever met - almost as if he wanted something from him.

Three large tankards were filled to the brim, and soon found their way towards their table. The squirrel spared not a look at the incapacitated Thordan and laid them out for the three able members of their party - a sure sign of professionalism.

Birger tasted the mead, followed by his brother. It had it's usual sweetness to it, but there was something sour within the taste.

"This town seems nice." Pickner absentmindedly said, taking a big gulp from his container. "Shame about the Trielians and their raids."

"Rebuilding was fast though." Birger piped. "I wonder which lord provided the funds."

"Well, lords are all the same. They never care about their folk until the last moment." Bodvar scoffed, downing his whole tankard in one go.

"What about this king here?" Pickner yawned. "He seems nice enough."

"I dunno." The younger otter stretched his paws.

Bodvar tried to say something, but was too tired to do so. He could do nothing as his strength rapidly faded away, but see his friends drop off at the speed of Thordan.

"... what we should…"

"Grab 'em all…"

Bodvar's last thought was to wonder what was put in their drinks before he went under.

* * *

**REDWALL ABBEY**

Thordan couldn't believe his eyes! He was back at Redwall!

The Great Hall was devoid of beasts of all kinds, but the weak aroma of food still lingered in the air - just the way Thordan remembered it. The Tapestry of Martin the Warrior hung on to the wall, like an ancient giant hulking over a mouse.

Running, he progressed up the stairs. Doors leading to different rooms were sprinted across, until Thordan reached the library. The place was filled with books originally from the Abbot's quarters and the Gatehouse, though not everything had been moved here yet.

He reached for a random book, and gasped as he felt it. Everything here is a dream, of course, but all seemed so real…

_What I wouldn't give to turn back time for real, to spend one more night beneath the stars at my second home… _Thordan held back tears as he put the book on a nearby table, trembling all over. _I'm doing it again..._

"Thordan!" A familiar voice rang out from behind. The young otter's ears perked and he turned around to see an otter about the same age.

"Tarka!" Thordan almost squealed at the sight of his old friend. "It can't be! Why are you here? This is a dream! How did you find your way here? Are you a Conjurer?"

"A Conjurer? What's that? Don't tell me you've started believing in magic, Thordan. You're a beast of reason!" Tarka scratched his head. "Or you were one. What happened to your jaw?"

"Broke it falling down stairs. " Thordan rushed up to hug his old friend, who embraced him in turn. "How's everybeast doing?"

"All's well! Jolin's Abbess now, and we're celebrating soon!"

"Jolin? Abbess? There's not a lot of better choices. Great job choosing her."

Tarka giggled. "I'm going to have to record everything about her - including her infatuation with that Southard soldier."

"Things have changed so much, but you're the same beast, Tarka."

"Er… thanks." Tarka smiled. "But what about you? You've changed."

"Crowns do weird things to the heads under them." Thordan recited.

"Wait. What?" Tarka's eyes flared wide open. "You're a king now? I thought all Southard kings were squirrels!"

Thordan sighed. "I'm King of Dravania, and I have to fight against Southsward."

'Fighting against Southsward?" Tarka took a step back. "You can't possibly - I'm right. You've changed, and not for the better. Then he opened the door and ran.

'Tarka, wait!" Thordan meant to pursue, but a ghostly blade stopped him from chasing after his otter friend. Thordan looked towards this right and saw the distinct figure of a mouse.

Dressed in a simple green habit, the mouse presented a cold, unflinching glare. Thordan did not have to take a second guess before deducing that this mouse fought in battles before.

"Go not after your friend, Conjurer." Martin the Warrior sighed, almost as if he was resigned to giving this command. "Live, for with your death after death, all shall be rent apart, and but a pawful be spared."

Then with a simple gesture, Thordan was tossed out of the room. Wood and sandstone became nothing as he was hurtled out of the Abbey, as his head swam with pain.

When he opened his eyes, he was in the skies above, holding an aged staff. Redwall Abbey lay beneath him, its belltower tens of feet lower. He leaned on his staff, and stood. He felt _old_. Below him, scores of beasts battled, with swords in their paws and fire hurled around the Abbey grounds, plunging all into smoke. A ferret, with fur of flame, punched through reality itself, and entered the fray, with a sinister aura emanating from him. _What could that be?_

He turned, and saw another beast pointing a sword in front of him. An otter, about forty seasons or so. "How long have I waited for this moment," he whispered, as Thordan took a defensive stance with his staff.

He moved, but Thordan turned his staff in time, somehow blocking the blow. Spinning the staff around by pure instinct, he struck at nothing - his enemy had already leapt away, his sword trained on Thordan. "It shall be ended here. _You _shall be ended here." The otter snarled, slavering with rage.

Before Thordan could even react, he woke.

* * *

**A/N: This chapter has three Thordan segments - the most for anybeast in one chapter. Just a random fact thrown here. Oh, and please do try to find the Wheel of Time reference!**

**The Redwall characters are Jade TeaLeaf's creations, and in my eyes the best of TCTBU. Tarka especially.**

**Chapter 37 (**_**To the Fore**_**) will be up on 4/5 December!**


	37. To the Fore

**A/N: ****Responses here! _That's a lot of responses..._**

**Grey 36: Ah well. Focusing on one character is indeed what I should have done. I should have introduced one single protagonist instead of... *counts* nine. Urgh... I'm not too proud of my earlier writing - that's why I need a remaster. Egil and Alfyn not being able to get what they want is quite the part in my story - a running gag, perhaps? Even their first purpose - rescuing Thordan seems to have done nothing in the long term - he's a prisoner again. Arbert and the bandits... an observant reader might have seen something similar in Brendan Sanderson's Mistborn series - three books that I have not read. Coins! Death by materialism - literally, of course.**

**Keva 36: Two letters... well. In Chapter 34, I mentioned a bit about Arn... Thordan's disfigurement was a matter of great deliberation, and I chose the one least likely to affect him in the future. Oh, and do NOT call him Crookedstar. He won't know the cat anyways.**

**Abrahem 36: Yay! I'm so glad that I'm finally writing a review response from you. Hmm... this is a long one. I would say that the birds that bear messages won't be the one that are eaten. More Thordan scenes! Yeah, the Redwaller impression of the Southern realms is a bit unrealistic. I'm glad you love my work, and are waiting eagerly for the next one - well, here it is!**

**Sebias 36: The opening segment was done with humour in mind. Corrado being Corrado again! Thordan did not break his neck (lucky him), and whether his jaw heals properly is a matter of debate - the Waycasters don't know proper healing techniques. Well, Dagbert wanted to torture Thordan so that his mental defences are broken, then Pressure him to use against the ward. Still a stupid plan. Getting beast-napped is a phrase I need to use more often. Lastly, of course, REDWALL! Tarka's back for now! (You'll get to see him and his friends all grown up soon) And what are those visions anyway?**

* * *

**To the Fore**

* * *

**AVRANK BY FERRIM, KINGDOM OF TRIEL**

This was it. The final clash.

Avrank was a good place to clash as any other. The town, not to be confused with its Parman cousin with a similar name, was a town bordered by a river, which was in itself bordered by a forest. And that forest was a trap.

Galen knew, the moment the soldiers appeared, that the forest was bait. It was not obvious, Garrion had tried to argue that it was a mere coincidence, or even a mistake on Garmund's part, but no trap that intends to be successful was obvious.

"It is definitely a Garmund thing to use his soldiers as bait!" Dirk affirmed his friend's decision, patting Galen on the shoulder. "He doesn't care if they live or die - only that he wins."

"It _does_ sound like Garmund." Garrion scratched his head.

"Putting your own troops in a sparse forest and hoping the enemy would follow them, only to spring a surprise attack?" Ralos opened his mouth for the first time. "Sometimes I wish I could have thought of it myself." For Galen, Ralos was a mere talker who does not talk much. He was not a good tactician by any means, and his strategy wasn't too expertly planned either. At least his unprecedented expertise had helped in giving the troops full bellies, which was not easy in enemy territory. That probably explains why Dirk liked him so much.

"So they are no threat, I take it." Garrion put a blue figurine on the battlefield map. It was not that good of a terrain representation, but that would do for the time being.

"Unless Garmund changes his plans." Dirk angled his paw to put another of those figurines on the table, but this one was red in colour. "We may think we know, but all is fleeting." He seemed to speak like Ralos for a second here.

"It would be a good idea to clear the forest out before anything happens in the coming days." Galen mused, while knocking Dirk's red figurine away.

Garrion proved much less appreciative this time around. "You said that this is what Garmund wants us to do!"

"We can always pretend to do what Garmund wants us to do." Dirk lifted another blue model of a Southard troop and placed it next to the one Galen held. "Then he can be fooled."

* * *

**SOUTHERN MOSSFLOWER**

Sedjow the fox clambered through the undergrowth, hoping to find somebeast to prey on.

The Juskanarn were not a particularly strong tribe - its days of glory were long behind them, though they were still of importance. Now, they had nothing to do in the usual gap in hostilities between tribes that lasted until summer.

Of course, the Juskajow needed every single bit of advantage they needed. Copper and bronze weapons were welcome, but what can truly turn tides is iron, or better yet, steel.

Which was why Sedjow was here. To find those metal of Southard make, or objects that can be traded with them.

Stepping into a clearing, his eyes opened at the sight. Vermin corpses lay around the copse, paws still clutching their spears and swords. But what was truly interesting was the state of the dead bodies.

A good portion of them were charred to the bone, fur, skin and sinew having simple melted away. Yet some faces have been purple-tinged. Poison? Asphyxiation seemed more likely.

He turned his head, and saw a vixen kneeling over a corpse. Unlike the others, this corpse was easily identifiable - a dogfox. This was probably due to his manner of death - a spear of ice which pierced his heart, and one which entered through the torso and out through the back.

The vixen turned, and Sedjow tensed. Her tattoos told a lot about her - a Juskadef vixen, and not a seer. She was probably a scout as well.

"I mean no harm, fellow Juska." The vixen stared at Sedjow's paw, which was straying towards his blade. "Katchra from the Juskadef I'm calld."

"Sedjow from th' Juskanarn." Sedjow said. "I assume that ye came for t' same reason I did."

"Steel's need'd." Katchra scowled. "But so many beasts dying in these manners? 'Tis strange."

"Sedjow nodded. He recalled his astonishment as he found a gang of woodlander bandits down South, with their fatal wounds narrower than an arrow slit. "First the woodlanders, now vermin bands? Something's up."

"The world is changing, and only Vulpuz knows what will happen next." Katchra put another iron spear into her bag, while Sedjow picked up an arrow of the same make.

"H' must b' laughing right now, the Lord of Hellgates." Sedjow checked his now-full bag. "Attacks like this sweep from the South to the North, stead'ly and slowly. I wonder what t' killers want."

"They mus' wan' something from the North." The vixen took what she can, as did the dogfox. "It mus' be something precious fer them."

"What's precious ter dem mus' be so to us." Sedjow muttered. "We need our seers to present an answer, and we'll go and get what's wanted.

* * *

**AVRANK BY FERRIM, KINGDOM OF TRIEL**

In the Trielian camp, things were seemingly going the right way. Beasts were all too eager to crush the Southard 'traitors', and boasted of their kills that have yet to happen.

Altayras was less than enthusiastic about it all. Unlike before Vernoll or Holminster, there was no brother or mentor to talk to. Holding Heavensward in his paw, he twirled it mindlessly and sighed. All he could do was wait.

His name was called, snapping him out of his thoughts, and he sprinted into the king's tent. King Garmund's axe lay on the ground, like it was watching Altayras' every move. It was carried by all too many Trielian kings, and even more princes - Garmund's namesake carried it into battle, despite renouncing his crown.

Garmund turned his head from Duke Randyll of Limse. If everybeast could be identified by one word, 'slimy' would fit well for him, while 'proud' would assume a solid second. He would make for a better spymaster than general, but Garmund needed his beasts to turn the war's tide. Southsward's forces were in Triel proper, the Dravanians were holed up in a single city, and Denebas was nowhere to be seen. _At least Vega is safe..._

"Duke Altayras, I have an important task for you." Garmund opened his mouth, though his pinched expression remained atop his muzzle. "You are to lead your troops into the forest round the River Ferrim, and wait for my signal. Then you shall surge forth and pounce on your enemy. The troops are already lying in wait," He put a paw on his table. "This Galen Snowpath is a wily commander, and it is imperative not to underestimate him and his peasant birth."

"I understand, Your Highness." Altayras bowed, then made a motion to leave, only to be stopped by Garmund.

"I have received a letter from your brother." Garmund's face was still statue-like, but Altayras felt his own stoicness fade. "He reports that he has not found his captain yet, and the situation in Kaldos grows worse by the hour, though in Gystra he may be. So-called King Thordan Swalestrom has been missing from his realm for a month and a half, and rumours of every kind has popped up from the peasantry."

Altayras nodded. "This does not bode well for us."

Randyll spoke - a first. "This is perhaps our last chance. A forlorn hope, some may say, but what can be done will be done." Randyll was a mere season older than Altayras, but he was mature enough to start scheming against whatever lay in his way. The squirrel had to wonder: how could such a small body fit so much poison within?

"Peace will come soon - this battle is decisive." Garmund picked up his axe. "The end will be swift for either of us."

* * *

**KALDOS, KINGDOM OF DRAVANIA**

It took a few hours, close to a day, even, before Lorcan was able to drag his brother and Sigrun to a parley.

Alfyn may have been the better warrior between the two brothers, but he had little experience in the noble art of diplomacy. He did not even seem to know that the best way of ending a conflict is by talking, and not by splitting heads apart with swords. Sigrun knows, of course, but was very apprehensive about the idea of meeting with her uncle. After all, them trading insults with each other was an occurrence that had already been observed twice. She had agreed to come though.

But that was the easy part, and now Lord Becker was at a table with Lord Lorents Rueford by his side, and with both sides sipping tea, concerned not to make the first move.

This silence was broken by Alfyn, who seemed to finally know what he was doing - keyword being 'seemed'.

"Lord Becker, why have you come here?"

"Oh! Er, yeah. Yes. I have come to discuss terms for surrender." The otterlord looked from left to right, clearly not in a mood to talk more than was necessary - a far cry from the usual Becker Swalestrom's gregariousness. Losing two children can do horrible things to beasts.

"Surrender?" Sigrun rubbed her chin. "I doubt that will be happening anytime soon."

Lorcan nodded at her statement. "No Thordan, no surrender." He stared at Becker. "Speaking of which, where have you taken him?"

Becker sighed. "You won't be having him back even if I willed it to happen. The last we heard of him was in Viksten two weeks ago - my beasts refused be located."

Alfyn rolled his eyes. "What did you expect to happen when you suddenly decide to kidnap your nephew? Under terms of emissaries? And who just happened to be King of Dravania?"

"It seemed like the right thing to do at the time." Lord Rueford spoke up for the first time.

"And I suppose you desire to exchange him for what we have left here, do you not?" Sigrun crossed her paws, having made no disguise to her dislike for her kinsbeast.

Becker silently nodded. "This war has to end somehow. King Gideon has no wish to rule over a broken Dravania, and I have reason to believe that your half-brother wants the same." He cocked his head to one side. "If Thordan, who calls himself King of Dravania would submit to the mercy of Southsward, Dravania would be left untouched."

Before Lorcan could even react, Alfyn pounded his paw on the table, causing the contents of numerous teacups to shake and spill. "House Stalwart has nurtured and cherished Thordan when abandoned by kith and kin. I swear, he will not die like his father, or worse - become Southard like you. He is one of our own, and we dare you to keep him locked up in Floret at your own peril!"

Becker smiled. "I hope to assure you that he will not be harmed in any way, though this depends on him more than I do." He closed his eyes. "For now, all of us, Southard or Dravain, would have to wait."

* * *

**AVRANK BY FERRIM, KINGDOM OF TRIEL**

The forest was quiet enough for Ralos at first.

He had survived Balv, where King Thordan (the _only _King named Thordan Ralos has ever had in his lifetime) had first got his crown. Ralos took quite a liking to him, though he had to be killed - the worlds may not be their own, but they were worlds nonetheless.

To be honest with himself, Ralos liked the otterking. His daughter may have been a pain in the tail, and her sons powerful enemies of Southsward in their own right, but they could be managed. Lorelei and Corrado Truetide were far, far away in Parma, and Thordan could have rejoined those he called subjects any time soon - he disappeared from Viksten faster than he had arrived.

Vernoll had been a result of surprise and poor planning, but Garrion said that he more than made up for it at Macolt. Somerled may have been a squirrelseer just like the General of Sword, but he had clearly spent too little time on a battlefield.

"Break ranks." Ralos gestured at his troops, who responded with a sprint into the woods, with paws on their pikes and bows and shields. There was no need for the enemy to find a blue tide in the middle of a green forest, and turn the tables on them.

The squirrel himself found all four paws resting on a tree, working in synergy to propel himself up bark and branches. Age has not slowed him down too much, with Conjuration being accessed by his little brooch Amplifier in his pocket. He could just float up, but why do that when you can feel your own two footpaws on a mossy trunk?

Settling into a cosy position, he wrapped his right paw around the brooch, and embraced Conjuration. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and willed for his beasts to be strengthened. Paws will be steady, arrows and bolts will find their marks, and courage will fill hearts like ale does a stomach.

His eyes opened, and saw. Black and white banners. Crossbowbeasts walking in front, and spearbeasts at the back. An armoured squirrel in a leading position.

Borellers.

"Now!" With a shout by Ralos, arrows flew out of treetops, stones soared from bushes, and Trielian beasts dropped like logs.

_Bedric Swalestrom, you shall be avenged._

* * *

**BERSTRAAT, KINGDOM OF DRAVANIA**

"They do say that you named this ship the Rubadub."

Like the first time he was captured, Bodvar's captors refrained from torture. They were mostly polite, though the boredom they had brought was just as brutal as any device they could have used on him.

"Well, I could not think of anything else at that time." Bodvar would have scratched his head if his paws were not tied. "Writer's block."

"Horrible problem indeed. But first, why did you put your companion in a barrel for days?" The grey squirrel blinked mockingly.

Bodvar's eyes snapped wide. To be honest with himself, he didn't know exactly why. He wanted to, and he did, and he regretted it now.

"Er… I don't really know why." Bodvar wished that he could kick himself.

"Well, he just told me that he is King Thordan of Dravania, and he doesn't like you stuffed him in a wine barrel in his own filth for days."

"That indeed happened, though I don't really remember what drove me." Bodvar's eyes rolled to the back of his head, though his memories were all too fuzzy. "All I remember is that there was that little voice driving me, and -"

"I think we've heard enough, Captain Waycaster." The gaunt form of Thordan drifted past the doorway, as if his life was over and he was reborn as something else. His fur was knotted and unkempt, and the broken jaw made him look fearsome, even. At least he had the chance to take a bath and put on something else.

"Were it left to somebeast else you would have been dead long ago, painfully or otherwise." Thordan paced around the room trying to look like a king - Bodvar simply couldn't pick up the nerve to tell him that he is failing miserably. "But I am not inclined to see you dead. Not yet."

"We're sorry for all that we have done to you." Bodvar felt the words linger on his tongue before loosing them out in a barrage. "Please try to understand." _Try to understand what? We stuffed you into a barrel bound and gagged!_

"Whatever. I'll just turn you three over to the Borellers." The otterking turned to the Boreller squirrel. "I'm sure that Lord Altayras or his brother will be glad to see him again."

"Your Highness, may I please speak?" Bodvar piped up, causing two annoyed stares to be directed at him. _Please work, please work, please work..._

The squirrel gestured to silence him, but with a swipe of a paw Thordan dismissed the rodent. "Trying to silence the Captain won't work. Trust me on that. Besides, I am quite interested in what he would like to say."

"King Thordan, for your crime of treason against Southsward, I challenge you to single combat!" _Please accept, please…._

"Very well. May the otter with the just cause triumph." Bodvar had to bite down on his lip to prevent himself from leaping in joy.

_Apparently crowns on heads do not increase intellectual potential._

* * *

**AVRANK BY FERRIM, KINGDOM OF TRIEL**

To say that Altayras was afraid was an understatement.

His unit almost got completely wiped out, ambushed by Sword troops. Apparently General Ralos had known of the positioning of troops, and had arrived there long before the Borellers had done so.

_Could the Southards have planted a spy in our camp? No, that would not be possible. Besides, if that were true, we would have been attacked on our way to the woodlands, long before we could even have the slightest chance to be prepared._

Altayras looked to the side, and barely succeeded in holding in a gasp. Everything was messy, as a battle should be, but the Southards clearly had the advantage. All but two of Triel's pennants have fallen, either dropped in confusion or captured by the enemy.

Skidding over the battlefield, Altayras crashed into the line of Southards. Plunging Heavensward into the chest of an Otterguard, the grey squirrel turned it like Erlend once did, and rotated it straight into a Swordbeast's throat. The unknown soldier dropped like a stone in a pond.

A blur of red cut through Altayras' vision. Flattening a beast with his axe, King Garmund turned to face his vassal.

"We hold," the mouse king panted. He was decidedly worse for wear. Blood covered him. Some of them were his, though that of those he had slain made their own 'contributions'. His armour may not be elaborate from the beginning, but pieces of it have been damaged, some even lost in the heat of battle.

"You need to get out of here!" Altayras screamed. "Now!" Kings were not to be screamed at, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

"Never!" The mouseking looked into Altayras' eyes with his own bloodshot pair.

"Our position has been given away! Lord Garrion is coming, in greater numbers!"

Garmund's eyes seemed to flash with crimson. "Well, I'll face him, damn it!"

"Listen to me!" The mouseking's eyes seemed to return to normal with Altayras' voice. "The battle is lost. The war is lost! Leave. You cannot be taken prisoner!"

The king turned. Beasts were fleeing in all directions, and the Southards were too busy converging on lone troops who had the courage to resist. That, though, was unable to change his mind.

"I came here for victory." Garmund scowled. "I will not turn tail and flee like a frightened shrew-wife!"

"And _I _came here to see you safe through every single battle." Altayras stared into Garmund's eyes coldly. Pointing Heavensward inches from this liege's throat, he continued, "If you do not 'turn tail and flee', I swear I'll gut you here and now, and drag your corpse to relative safety!"

The mouseking sighed and nodded. All was lost, but he was still alive and breathing, and his Landwaker was with him.. As long as that is the case, he would see himself avenged.

* * *

**A/N: Hoo boy, that was long.**

**I originally wanted to write two more segments here, but it would be perfect to let it end here and now.**

**All falls into place now… and you haven't seen much of the Ward, yes?**

**Chapter 38 (**_**Piece of Mind**_**) will be up on 11/12 December!**


	38. Piece of Mind

**A/N: Oh no... not last minute reviews...**

**Keva 37: Sedjow will be familiar to readers of The Blood Between Us, but I believe that this would be his only appearance in ARR. Oh, and some voice? Who could that be? Uh, I don't really know, but could it be somebeast who was with Bodvar for some time who has magical abilities, and NOT Thordan.**

**Sebias 37: Heh. For some reason I do not like these scenes... Well, you have already seen one of those attackers before, and in this chapter you will see the other two. Yes, segment 3 did give the chapter its name. Parley scenes are the best! I mean, last one may or may not be my seventh (or more), but I just love them! All the shade being thrown and all that... Oh, and it could be a mole pressuring Thordan... (I thought I made it obvious!)**

* * *

**Piece of Mind**

* * *

**LOAMHEDGE**

The gorge was wide, and the abbey may have sunk, but there were ways of heading down there. The beast who called himself Emetselk (he really needed to stop calling himself that) knew, of course. He had been there long before, way back when.

"Ah, I see that our guest had been well prepared for such a long journey."

The otter studied the mole in front of him. Twin swords strapped to his back made him more menacing than he already was, and the faint scars on his face did not help.

The mole reached out his paw, but found nothing. Conjuration had been cut off, like a sluice or dam does to a river. The grey vixen beside the otter quivered.

"Has all law and principle been so perverted that one may lay paws upon an emissary without punishment or consequence?" Standing up on the rock he was sitting on, he smiled mockingly at the mole warrior. His kind mostly avoided that reputation - they were mostly honest workers up in Mossflower, or scholars like Dagbert down South. The last mole to wield a weapon with proficiency was one Axtel Sturnclaw, but he was dead and buried for a hundred or so seasons.

"You could have _told _me that." Realising that force of arms would do little to a Conjurer and a Thaumaturge, unbonded as they may be, Arbert quickly settled down, crossing his paws.

"Well then." Emetselk raised his paws high. "So why have you come?" Arbert was not in the mood for small talk, and Emetselk knew this. _Southards! A dull and dour land breeds a boring type of folk._

"For answers - answers that you have decided to keep from me. And you brought the vixen? The badgerlords told be to talk with the 'enemy fox' - I expected Isangrim, to be honest."

"At least you didn't hope for Erlend Swalestrom!" Emetselk's smile faded. "But seriously. Don't trust these badgers. They don't know everything - I learnt that the hard way."

"Yeah, yeah. Why are you two here?" Arbert rolled his eyes.

"Well… we wanted answers as well-"

"But Emetselk already came here, so he got booted off."

Emetselk turned to the vixen he had carried with him. "Yes, exactly as Hersent says." He put his paw up to his face. "We need a woodlander and a vermin to enter, and I'm out."

He looked at the mole. "Yeah. Should've thought things through. Care to take my place?"

"I don't have any idea what you mean." Arbert did not look like the most intelligent of beasts. But then, he was not his brother. Not even close.

He could still remember the first time he met the talpine brothers. Dagbert was the civil one, who offered to play chess and even gave him a few books. On the other paw, Arbert didn't even see fit to acknowledge him, despite Thordan being King of Parma and all that.

"Oh, come on!" The Warder tapped his footpaw on the ground in mock irritation."I want you to go into Loamhedge and get what you want!"

"Just like that?" Arbert blinked, clearly not believing Emetselk.

"Yep. But always question what you see, mole." Emetselk lifted up three claws. "Three possible futures you will see. All of them may be true, or none of them. Remember not to get trapped within them - leave when it is time. One might get trapped in a fake world."

He opened a corridor of darkness, and Hersent gasped at the unknown. Extending an arm at the mole warrior, the otter sighed as the vixen stepped into the unknown, and the mole prepared to do the same.

"Oh, and beware of sarcastic narrators as well."

* * *

Hersent woke up.

Of course, as far as she knew, she never even fell asleep.

Just beside her, Arbert the mole scrambled to his footpaws. Or, at least, he tried to, until he discovered that he was floating in a void of _something_.

Hersent spun herself around, and looked. Unlike in any place she had ever been to, in the Source, the Rift or even most recently to the Earthshard, she was confused.

WHO INTRUDES?

All four ears perked up at the voice. The deep echo was not even heard, but felt - as if their minds have been pierced through, and their hearts have been forced into reacting.

"Who are you?" Hersent managed to squeak.

"Show yourself, voice." Arbert put a paw on Finnbarr. Though Hersent may not have seen or sensed, she could guess that he embraced Conjuration like a fish leaps into water. Hersent found herself seize Thaumaturgy like a bird takes flight.

AH. TWO SEERS. BRILLIANT.

The vixen and the mole put themselves back to back. Arbert grasping his sword tightly while Hersent's paws were bare - her medallion Amplifier should prove sufficient.

THE CROWNED OTTER AND HIS PET RAT CALLED ME NARRATOR, AND I SEE THE MERIT IN HIS MOCKING DESCRIPTION. YOU TWO ARE FREE TO DO THE SAME.

"Er… thank you, Mister Narrator."

MISTER?

The voice turned higher, squeaker, as if it was from a lady's mouth.

I DOUBT THAT I HAVE A PHYSICAL FORM, SO I CAN BE CALLED MISTER OR MISS. IF I HAD EYES I WOULD HAVE ROLLED THEM ALREADY. MORE THAN ONCE.

The voice returned to its deep form.

WHATEVER. JUST CALL ME NARRATOR. THORDAN WAS PRETTY GOOD WITH HIS NICKNAMES! AND DON'T EXPECT ME TO CHANGE MY VOICE AGAIN! I HAPPEN TO BE PRETTY PROUD ABOUT IT!

"So… what are we to do now?" Arbert put his sword down, though he was hesitant to sheathe it.

I DON'T KNOW… MAYBE HAVE A CUP OF TEA OR SOMETHING? MAYBE HAVE A GAME OF TENNIS WHILE WE'RE AT IT?

Hersent failed to hold back a chuckle. "So when are you going to answer my questions?"

WHEN YOU ARE READY. AND AS FOR YOU, MOLE, WAIT AND SEE - LITERALLY. THE SIGN COMES ONCE, AND ONCE ONLY. LEAVE AT THE MOMENT, NOT ANY LATER.

Darkness blanketed the space between, and the mole was swiftly swallowed up.

IT HAS BEEN LONG SINCE WE HAVE HAD A VISITOR. INTRODUCE YOURSELF.

"I am Hersent of Meschin, apprentice to Isangrim of Kurburg." The grey vixen said, trembling all the time used to pronounce her introduction.

I HAVE HEARD OF NO ISANGRIM - HE MUST BE TOO LAZY TO COME HERE, HMM?

"He is busy as of this hour. His mission is clandestine."

OOH! I LOVE ME A SECRET MISSION! AH WELL, WE CANNOT HAVE EVERYTHING, I GUESS. WHATEVER. EVEN LONG, LONG I AM FORGOTTEN AND UNUSED, THEY COME AGAIN AND AGAIN, SEEKING THE ANSWERS TO QUESTIONS THREE.

"I have heard from Emetselk that questions about death would not be answered, right?"

CORRECT, LITTLE VIXEN. YOU KNOW YOUR STUFF ALL TOO WELL. NOW ASK UP BEFORE I GET BORED.

"Alright. What are all the safe possibilities when a beast Bonds another?"

GOOD QUESTION! HMM… LET ME SEE...

Hersent's ears perked up.

IF A THAUMATURGE BONDS A CONJURER, THE TWO SHALL SHARE EMOTIONS AND SENSATIONS BOTH. BUT YOU KNOW THAT. IF A THAUMATURGE BONDS A NORMAL WOODLANDER, THEN THE TWO SHALL SHARE EMOTIONS ONLY. IF A CONJURER-"

"Hold on. You mean that Conjurers can bond as well?"

CORRECT. IN MY INFINITE WISDOM AND MERCY, I WON'T COUNT THIS AS YOUR SECOND QUESTION. BACK TO TOPIC - IF A CONJURER BONDS A THAUMATURGE, THE TWO SHALL SHARE EMOTIONS AND SENSATIONS BOTH. BUT YOU KNOW THAT. IF A CONJURER BONDS A NORMAL VERMIN, THEN THE TWO SHALL SHARE EMOTIONS ONLY. JUST LIKE WITH THAUMATURGES. NOW COMES THE FUN BIT. IF A CONJURER BONDS A MUNDANE WOODLANDER, OR A THAUMATURGE BONDS A MUNDANE VERMIN, THE TWO SHALL SHARE EMOTIONS AND SENSATIONS BOTH. AS IF THEY BOND ANOTHER SEER.

Hersent could feel a big breath being taken.

ALRIGHT. DO YOU HAVE A SECOND QUESTION, OR DO YOU WANT TO DIGEST WHAT YOU HAVE LEARNED HERE?

Hersent planned with the otter for long and far, and the next question was vital. "Will a Taggerung be born in the Source while I live?"

AH. AN EASY QUESTION FOR A CHANGE. I LIKE YOU. OH, AND THE ANSWER IS YES. YOU WILL MEET HIM THRICE, AS BOTH ALLY AND ENEMY.

Hersent gasped, but recovered her composure just in time to ask her third question - one of a less personal nature.

"What are the conditions for getting into an audience with you, and getting to see the future or ask three questions?"

* * *

**THE FIRST FUTURE**

He was on the deck of a ship, on his way to his home.

Floret never changed, in this world or the next. The one in the Source was Arbert's birthplace, and the one in the Earthshard was almost a second home. This one should be no more different - but it _was_ a possible future.

Sails were everywhere across the clear blue sea. From little merchant barques to the giant carracks blazing through the sea. But the normally myriad colours have been replaced by black, white and grey sails, with all the colour from the world being taken from them.

Then came the spires of Castle Floret. Made of sand-coloured stone they were, seeming to reach up and pierce the very heavens themselves. Arbert sighed in relief. At least _that _part of his childhood had not changed.

Reaching for Conjuration and embracing it, Arbert made a Pathway to the docks. Stepping out from the gate, he saw a familiar figure.

"Lord Garrion!" Arbert cried out, earning a startled jump in return. The otter turned to him. He seemed much older now - almost thirty seasons old, even.

"Arbs! You've been missing for an entire decade now! They say -"

"Garrion! Good to see you! And what did I say about calling me the name?" He was one of the otter's arms instructors, and though the lordling was not an excellent student by any means, he was a good beast to talk to.

"Oh. Sorry. You haven't aged at all, by the way. I've heard that seasons do bad things to beasts, but you must surely be an exception."

"What happened to the world while I was gone?" Arbert quizzed.

"Well… the world almost got destroyed."

"What?" Arbert almost leapt up into the air.

'It's true. The waters didn't move, the earth and its gifts rotted away, and the winds simply didn't blow - until they did too strongly."

"Who, or what happened to save it?"

"Three otters. Two of them happen to be named Thordan, and the last was Lorelei Skyward."

Reality (_a_ reality, at least) hit Arbert like a mace. "I don't really trust them. Did they really save the lives of each and every one of you?"

"You should never question it!" Garrion replied, agitated. "Besides, all three of them _died_ doing so!" He shook his head. "They should have lived! My cousin should have lived!"

"Then-"

"Don't move, Lord Garrion." Arbert's ears perked up at the all too familiar voice.

Emmeroloth.

"Convocator Emmeroloth, what did you mean by that?" Garrion's brows tightened.

"He was one of those partly responsible for the Calamity!"

Before Garrion could do anything to comply with or defy the black fox, tendrils of Air wrapped around him, and he was cast aside.

Almost in a flash, Emmeroloth reached for Thaumaturgy. Remembering what he was taught all those seasons ago, the mole reached a paw forward, Fatch clutched in the middle, and walked slowly at his adversary.

"So you dare approach me. You have not changed. As if on cue, three spheres of fire launched out of his outstretched paw, which slammed into Arbert's WInd-shield. Abruptly clouds shivered in the sky, in multiple shades of black. In an instant, lightning leaped from them.

As if time itself slowed down, Arbert reached for Conjuration as calmly as he could, and shoved the pall in the sky right back at the fox. Emmeroloth screamed as his blow was redirected at him, the bolt shattering the stones of the street.

When the smoke cleared, Emmeroloth was kneeling, moaning in pain.

A gleam of light appeared from the mole's right, as if it was calling him.

Arbert took a deep breath. He wanted to see Emmeroloth perish - for what he did and what he planned to do. He wanted to glean every bit of knowledge gleaned from the fox - perhaps a spanking could work on _this _Isangrim as well as that one.

LEAVE AT THE MOMENT, NOT ANY LATER. The words floated in the midst of Arbert's brain.

Forsaking further hesitance, he leaped through the rift.

* * *

**THE SECOND FUTURE**

He was in Duncton, where he grew up.

His childhood house had not changed since the last time he left. His bed was always left untidied, clothes were all around the floor, and the less said about the bookcases, the better.

_No wonder Mother preferred Dagbert._

Stepping through the doorway, he sauntered through a corridor. Memories diffused into a willing brain - of chasing his brother through corridors like the one he was in, of embracing Conjuration for the first time under an otter's watchful eyes, of inviting Rebecca for tea for the first time… Maybe the last memory did not come to Arbert that willingly, but he got the idea.

_Speak of Vulpuz…_

A molemaid dropped her books, startling the warrior. He and she have met in the past, and were even close to betrothal a few times.

"Rebecca?"

"Arbert? But… but you're dead!"

"Dead? How?"

"You fell at Berstraat!" Rebecca seemed hysterical at seeing her old friend again. "You took down Thordan Swalestrom by yourself and you got a mace to the face!"

"I don't remember that… maybe the mace did do its work."

"Ha!" A shrill guffaw erupted from the molemaid's mouth. "You may have forgotten a lot, but at least you've kept your sense of humour!" She picked up her book. "Kelbert would be very, very glad to see you!"

"Kelbert?"

"The weasel we adopted from Sword!" Rebecca smiled. "We took him in to experiment on whether vermin learn as fast as woodlanders do! It happened half a decade after our marriage, don't you remember? "

_We were married?_ Arbert willed the thought back into his head. "Where's Dagbert?"

"Oh? Dagbert? Who's that? Never heard of a Dagbert. Sounds like a mole though. Who is he?"

As Rebecca rambled on and on about how everybeast was excited to see him, Arbert failed to listen. He never even had the intention to do so. Instead, he reached for Conjuration -

And witnessed the unmistakable odour of a powerful Pressure.

Healing was never Arbert's talent, so removing it would be downright impossible - without the Ward, anyway. But they must be the ones who placed the Pressure there in the first place.

With Arbert and Dagbert out of the way, the Ward is unstoppable.

"No. No. All of this is wrong! This is not real! The Ward must be stopped! This world is doomed!"

A glint of light appeared from the mole's right, as if it was calling him.

"I have to go!" Arbert turned and ran.

"Arbert, wait! Stop! I love you!"

Ignoring his wife's pleas, Arbert leapt through the light.

_And I love you too, fairest Rebecca. With all my heart._

* * *

**THE THIRD FUTURE**

He was on a battlefield.

Flames bathed the grass as beasts died around them. Some of them perished screaming, some of them died fighting, and others moaned as they succumbed to their wounds. Arms and armour lay on every inch of charred ground, some abandoned by fleeing beasts, others still fastened atop the fallen.

Arbert turned onto a hill. Six banners, all of different colours lay on one side, and a sole blue banner on the other. Southsward stood alone.

A metallic clink caught Arbert's attention. Behind him stood a squirrel, clad in armour, charging into the mole. Embracing Conjuration, he slammed into the very earth, and tripped the soldier. The rodent flew into Finnbarr.

Spinning around, he saw the pained face of General Ralos - and the sword-stroke of an otter. Stormblood returned to a normal grip of his right paw as the otter turned to face Arbert, revealing a cracked helmet, a brown eye and a crooked jaw.

Thordan Swalestrom was not happy to see the mole.

Both beasts prepared a stance of battle - placing their swords at their left, and holding them with one paw. Arbert could have used both swords - but this reality's Thordan is not to be underestimated. It could be a trap.

Before Arbert could speculate even further, the Southard banner dropped.

Like a bolt of lightning, both combatants rushed towards each other, and swung.

Time itself seemed to stop as both sides raised their blades on their sides, unaware of what had happened, or had their swords even struck their foe.

Then Arbert heard Stormblood plant on the ground, barely supporting the downed otter.

Arbert stood up, and walked to his fallen foe. His eyes open and he breathed, but the big gash to his abdomen indicated that he wasn't going to do so for long.

"A smile suits a hero better." Thordan said softly, grinning like a madbeast. "You told me that yourself all those seasons aago."

He made no effort to shield himself from the fatal blow that came afterwards.

"Arbert!" A white-clad mole waved at him. Dagber, clutching a book in his paw fending off a pine marten Thaumaturge. Distracted with the mole Recorder, the vermin seer had no change at fending off a blow from Fatch.

"What happened, brother?"

"We've basically lost everything. The Ward have basically taken over everything - Southsward remains, but barely."

"Well, we have each other. We will survive this."

"We-" Dagbert tensed at incoming pawsteps, at an otter in white and a black fox.

"They're here!" Dagbert sounded nervous, afraid, even.

A sable-clad stoat walked from behind Arbert. With a sizzling sound, a massive sword the colour of night was summoned right out of thin air. A pine marten walked out of the shadows, followed by a hare with Heavensward the Amplifier.

"They're all here! We have to link!"

A glimmer of light appeared from the mole's right, as if it was calling him.

"Please, brother!"

With a sob, Arbert ran towards the light as fast as he could.

Emetselk embraced Conjuration, and Emmeroloth prepared a bolt of lightning.

"For the love of Great Seasons, Arbert, help! HELP ME!"

The glow of light enveloped everything.

* * *

**A/N: Hello, new favourite chapter!**

**You know, the NARRATOR grew on me fast. He's now one of my favourite characters, despite appearing in only this chapter. Everyone loves ALL CAPS, right?**

**I'm sorry for keeping the answer to Hersent's last question secret, but this could be spoilery. And just what is Isangrim going this whole time?**

**Chapter 39 (**_**Thunderer**_**) will be up on 18/19 December!**


	39. Through the Gloom

**Thanks to all who reviewed - Abrahem, Grey, Seb and Keva! Now, to a long series of review responses...**

**Grey 37: I made it quite clear that Bodvar wasn't completely Bodvar right from the beginning. Oh, and Pressuring isn't complete mind control, so Bodvar and Thordan's first meeting, while intentional, wan't staged. Better a living coward than a dead hero indeed. I have to agree that a dead coward is downright horrible - if only the coward is well and truly dead. Oh, and please do 'take a break from writing and read some Jade'.**

**Abe 37: Battle isn't easy to write. It was never a strong point for me, so excuse me for writing everything poorly. Now, diplomacy is better - writing Becker and Sigrun's relationship is a pastime in writing. They do not like each other, as you can see. Young Thordan agreeing to a duel isn't one of his more level-headed moments, and you will have fun seeing how everything turns out.**

**Grey 38: Old Thordan is helping Arbert because he can't get a second chance to see his visions - he got thrown out. If Hersent teams up with Arbert, she gets to ask questions anyway. NARRATOR! A pity we won't see much of him anytime soon. One-scene wonders... Will Young Thordan become a monster though? Nice question...**

**Abe 38: Three questions! I got the idea from Wheel of Time's Finn, but without a price. 'How to Drop Exposition Without Being Annoying' states that the best way to deliver info to a reader is to deliver it to a character who knows nothing as well. Hence, you know everything about Bonding! Yay! Very detailed analysis about the futures, Abe! Oh, and you'll like Kelbert if he ever appears.**

**Keva 38: The NARRATOR deserves the ALLCAPS anyways. I took this idea from *remembers the spoilers* - none of your concern. Nice fella... what's he planning? Oh, and do try to guess a future, if any. All of them may come true, or none, remember?**

**Seb 38: Loamhedge! NARRATOR! Sable Quean reference! Yay! Yay! Yay! Though the Sable Quean wasn't even written at the time of most of TCTBU, but whatever. The NARRATOR was one to be loved, I see. After all, who doesn't like hammy exposition? The cliffhanger. Yep. Evil decision. Almost as evil as Old Thordan being killed off offpage. Though him being Emetselk means that this doesn't really matter. Again, Thordan's path is shrouded in mystery, so no spoilers for any of you. (Yeah, yeah. I'm not that open again.)**

**With significantly less ado than before...**

* * *

**Through the Gloom**

* * *

**KALDOS, KINGDOM OF DRAVANIA**

It was way past dusk when Lorcan Stalwart stopped his brother from going into his rooms.

The siege was proceeding as usual. Becker Swalestrom was clearly not in his element, being forced to sit on the other side of the city walls. He had offered small forces as bait time and time again, while Alfyn was instructed not to close his jaws around the obvious trap.

Everything could go either way - until Egil's brother suddenly announced that he had accepted another contract, and coming to their rescue would be impossible. So much for trusting vermin.

This, in addition to the fact that a Crestworth was crowned King of Otharn, meant that the best outcome of the Dravain forces has been degraded from 'breaking Becker's siege' to 'wasting Lord Becker's time until the inevitable happens'. After all, even the great Queen Lorelei had to play by the rules, and Parma would remain at peace even if her head had to roll.

"Alfyn," Lorcan half-carried, half-dragged his brother to a comfortable chair that belonged to Thordan, his father, and _his _father who died at Balv. "Remember the project about betrothal to Bellamy Swalestrom?"

"Yes." Alfyn's paws curled around each other. "Why ask?"

"That project has been revived." With a simple sentence from Lorcan, the whole room fell into silence - a tense one, at that.

"You never asked me."

"Garmund wants it done, and I couldn't refuse! He's getting beaten back step by step, town by town, mile by mile!" Lorcan sighed. "We need peace."

"And you expect me to wed a maiden I met once, and one you know does not like me?" Alfyn got up. "You're ruining my life, you know that?"

"It's not-"

"In shambles!" Prancing around the room like a madbeast was more of a Thordan or Egil thing, but he found it quite fitting, considering the circumstances. "Torn apart! Destroyed!"

"Alfyn, listen to me!"

"Shredded! Crushed! Destroyed!" Finally stopping, he met his brother's gentle gaze with his own attempt at looking gentle. After all, he was his older (though wimpier) brother, but still the Skipper of Arnet. Proper respect had to be shown.

Another silence blanketed the room.

Finally, Alfyn piped up. "Do you think she's pretty?"

"Well…" Lorcan rubbed his ear. "She's not ugly…"

"But she's not pretty, is she?"

Lorcan shrugged. "She's a bit lacking in the ears department, but you'll like her well enough."

Alfyn smiled. "Is she deaf or something?"

"Er… no."

"And how can you be so sure that I would like her?" The younger otter plopped right down into his chair.

Lorcan followed suit. "She's the best match in all of the Southern Realms! Look. If not for the fact that I am already married, I would probably go for her."

"You assume too much, brother." Alfyn shook his head. "I think you'll find we're not as similar as one might think. I, for one, do not judge a beast for their ears."

"Hey! That's a low blow!" Lorcan betrayed his emotion - a rare occurrence, and one that made Alfyn smirk. "There aren't a lot of ways to bring peace! We're being smashed on both fronts, so lie down with Bellamy and do the smashing yourself!" Shocked at what had just came out from his mouth, he coughed. "So as to speak."

"And if I don't?"

'Well… If I were you, I would just walk proudly to the altar, say your vows with honour, put the ring on the new Lady Stalwart's claw and flee the wedding feast."

"What? Can I do that?"

"Well… if you run away, or if Bellamy does, then it's your fault or hers. Triel and Southsward bear no responsibility." Lorcan stood up and sighed. "This does not mean that you should not at least try her out."

"Well…" Leaping to his footpaws, Alfyn was having none of that. "To put it kindly, no. My life is my own, and not controlled by any other! If anyone says that I belong to somebeast else like one of your vermin sl-"

The door to the sitting room slammed open, revealing a very worried weasel. "What happened?"

The two otters spoke in unison. "Nothing."

The vermin smiled nervously, fixing a slight tremble.. "Ah well. Becker had forwent _another _parley and is mounting an attack."

* * *

**AVRANK BY FERRIM, KINGDOM OF TRIEL**

"No. No. This isn't happening!"

Galen wailed at the once proud body of Lord Garrion Swalestrom. The otterlord was dying, everybeast knew. It all had started well. The Trielians evaded a trap, only to leap headfirst into another one.

"It _is _happening, Snowpath, and you are powerless to stop it." Garrion's voice was rough and hoarse. After all, he had taken three arrows to the body, one of them piercing the stomach. There was little chance for survival, and what the best healers have done made his death a certainty instead of a 'mere' likelihood. They said it was left to Gariron to fight the infection back, but Garrion couldn't do any fighting. He had lost most of his will to live after both his brothers died in action.

"Then…" Galen shuddered. There was nobeast else in the room aside from the duo - Garrion couldn't stand the clamour of beasts trampling each other to see him.

"There's a letter left for you. Check my possessions after I have passed. It contains vital information, though there is one more thing I want you to know."

"What- what would that be, Lord Garrion?" The commander trembled. Many comrades of his have either perished against the foe, or have been permanently crippled, physically or mentally.

"I told you to just call me Garrion." The lord sighed and turned to his subordinate."After my passing, Thordan is due to inherit everything from Father." Thordan? The last time Galen had checked, Garrion's traitor cousin had declared himself King of Dravania, and had been missing for weeks. _Just desserts for that act of perfidy._

"Make sure that does not happen. The boy is Trielian done to the very bones. Try not to kill him, but if he ever gets close to being Skipper or King, throw everything at him."

"I understand, Lo- Garrion." Holding back tears, Galen knelt in front of his superior, lord and friend for was was possibly the last time. "I swear by your brothers' souls that Thordan Swalestrom would not get what he wishes. I swear that no Trielian would dominate Southard any longer!"

"Very well. Thank you, Gale. Now leave me. I wish to rest."

* * *

**BURELAS, DUCHY OF BURELAS KINGDOM OF TRIEL**

Morag never imagined her wedding would be such a somber affair.

What she had expected was some grand ceremony in a shrine (probably the one in Arnet), with thunderous crowds clapping and cheering when the vows were exchanged, and probably a grand feast to top everything off.

This was soon proven not to be the case.

It was almost gloomy in Burelas, being a swamp and all. Rumours have said time and time again that the castle of Burelas and the town around it could float on the swamps, and even fly into the heavens if need arises. Of course, lowly peasants, being lowly peasants, can spread what rumours they can as long as treason is not involved.

Vega bought the dress materials on one of her trips to Arnet, and she sewed it with her own paws. Quite surprisingly, she was good at it, until she had to fit everything together. In the end, a servant's help was needed, and the thing barely fitted.

Swamps bred frogs, toads and lots and lots of bugs, so it is no wonder that this blasted land bred Altayras as well. Morag's ancestors clashed with his numerous times, and the marriage happened solely to patch that rift - and that only happened thanks to the intervention of High Queen Marla of Parma, with her son-in-law Erlend Swalestrom finishing what she started. Apparently, two duchies being constantly at war was a recipe for disaster regarding national unity. Duke Kestutas being Duke Kestutas, he readily accepted the peace offering. Morag's father being Morag's father, he readily accepted the peace offering - after quite the bribe.

'Dour' did not even begin to describe him. He was pretty much in love with his spear - his literalspear - Morag would have found it normal if it were his _other _one, though no sane beast would be so clingy with Heavensward. Gates, he even sleeps with the thing!

Morag had approached both Altayras and his siblings when they came for the first time to Deilart. All three were curious about everything (well, Morag's ancestors have not been swamp savages), and she and Vega built up a friendship that seemed to get stronger with time. The other two never responded to her charms - Denebas was too shy, while Altayras saw them as superficial, whatever that meant.

Guess who was she going to be stuck with for the rest of her life?

"Keep your composure, Morag." Vega's voice chirped up. She was her shadow, of sorts. While Morag had been the smiling face, ready to charm a guest into the home, Vega was the one who did all the planning beforepaw. "Altayras is just as nervous as you. He's probably just hiding it."

"Well, with his spear in his paw, he can fight off a dozen foes, but he's nervous with a girl?" Morag guffawed. "A weird beast indeed!"

"You must not say that in the ceremony, my lady." Vega's face was usually stone-cold like her younger brother, or panicky like a certain Thordan Swalestrom who she met in Arnet three seasons ago. But now, she seemed merry, overjoyed, even. Well, her brother is going to be wedded to her greatest friend, mismatched they might be, so why not be happy now? Vega continued. "King Garmund is watching, and Queen Bertrada as well."

Morag gasped. If King Garmund was a roaring flame, his wife were smouldering embers. Mind compared to her husband, but trampling on her won't be a good idea. "Queen Bertrada? Isn't she going to be staying at Arnet looking after her son?"

The younger squirrel shook her head. "Looks like she's changed her plans."

000000000000000

**THE NORTHLANDS, THE WATERSHARD**

Fandaniel watched impassively as he was led to a seat in the tent. Swivelling his whole body around, the stoat sat down, with Igeyorhm the pine marten alongside him. She had never been stable, male or female, woodlander or vermin, but this form would serve as a healthy dose of humility that, he hoped, would last until her dying day - just in time to get reborn again.

Not that Fandaniel appreciated his own change. Emetselk would like to experiment on the properties if woodlander and vermin, and the gap between them. The ex-otter could have found himself honoured to be the first to bridge it, though he was more irritated by the whole idea. By virtue of being stronger and taller, is new body was more sorted to combat than his old, and he has sacrificed his ability to swim fast for an 'advanced rate of terrestrial locomotion'. If not for the stench, it would be the perfect warrior body, and even that could be solved with regular bathing.

"He will come soon." The red fox nodded at the odd pair, and rushed out of the tent. By the manner of which he walked signified an impatient nature, either of the fox or his master, whom the pair knew.

"Why here?" Fandaniel turned his head to his partner. The marten had done nothing but whine about the dirt, the poor roads, and having to stay up to take her watch half the night. The last of the three has been solved by Igeyorhm healing his fatigue, though that made her more tired, and thus more irascible. "Why here? And not Southsward, or Triel, or Parma?"

Fandaniel did not even turn his gaze away from his surroundings. It was a rudimentary tent, alright, built by rudimentary hordevermin. This one had a map of the Northlands in the centre of a table, signifying that it was needed somehow - and the presence of a cartographer. "Triel and Parma, according to Emetselk's knowledge, do not exist in this plane. As for Southsward, if is under the grip of a wildcat warlord with immunity to your Conjuration, and two of us will not be enough to deal with him."

Igeyorhm looked at the black stoat with a disapproving stare "We could still stir up trouble by-"

"Not happening." Fandaniel was tempted to slap her right in the face like he did to Lorelei, but he would not let his anger loose on this pitiful wretch. "Small increases in chaos are just as important as large ones." _That was what Emetselk had told me, anyway._

Astral and Umbral Aether could be harvested from any death, but violent deaths provide more of it. If this world has to be cast into the Void, a burst of both kinds of magic has to be used. A shattered shard is rejoined to the Source, and the Ward's plans can truly begin.

"Besides, Emetselk has proof that one of three 'keys' is to be born here." Seeing the other vermin's stare go from agitated to confused brought a bit of satisfaction to the stoat. "Do not look at me in that manner - I have no idea what he means by that. I only know that they are like protagonists in one of _those_ novels - one who is preserved by good fortune and nothing else."

"Supernatural good luck, huh?" Igeyorhm tensed. "That's a boatload of s- superstition!"

Fandaniel finally acknowledged the presence of the smaller vermin for the first time. "You are the first vermin to use Conjuration, and amongst the first ten to use it properly from our world, and we are in an alternate dimension. Nothing is superstition anymore."

The marten snarled. "Call me vermin once more, and I will-"

Heavy pawsteps quickly strangled what threat Igeyorhm was planning on making. The beast creating them was tall - only about two claws taller than Fandaniel, but for Igeyorhm he seemed to reach up into the clouds. His gray fur and long muzzle reminded Fandaniel who he was - a wolf from the Lands of Ice and Snow. A lesser beast would have trembled in fear, or have lost control over his bowels. But Fandaniel was of the Ward. Displays of wanton fear were far beneath him.

Besides, he had come prepared. He had information from previous scouting trips, and had a Conjurer - a virtual wizard, so as to speak - on his side. Well, he had to stop her from killing him with a well-placed knife throw every twenty minutes, but she is still on her side. Otherwise, she might just get her second shot at life bitterly (not to mention _brutally_) revoked.

"You must be Bertvar." It only took a split second before Fandaniel regretting putting his footpaw directly inside the wolf's mouth. He was never the most diplomatic of beasts - even Thordan would laugh at him once the stoat can tell him what had happened here.

The wolf took no offense. "And you are…"

"Call us Doga and Unei," Igeyorhm smirked, putting a paw on a full goblet as Fandaniel did the same. It wasn't a lie. After all, it was a request, and not a statement.

"We are warriors from… how to put it...foreign lands who lend their blades for the less skilled and courageous, or in your case for those who can offer gold." Fandaniel could only hope that this Bertvar beast was receptive to his plea, or Igeyorhm would have to Pressure him.

"What would you have we do for you?"

Igeyorhm chose to ignore the question. "You have a problem with shrews, as I recall?"

If Bertvar was supposed to be surprised, he hid his expressions well. "Correct. And just how did you know that, Unei?"

Fandaniel recalled standing in the wolf's camp for hours on straight, moving slowly lest the Veil wears off. He decided to let Igeyorhm do the talking. "We happen to know a lot, wolf." She took a sip from her goblet. "And you happen to know little. Still, we are moved to help you, gold or no gold, but you had better pay us.."

The stoat nodded. "Two hundred silvers for every battle we fight in."

"One hundred and half that," Bertvar countered, smiling. "With another five for each slave taken in battle."

Igeyorhm shook her head. "We aren't taking woodlander prisoners. Another two for each kill?"

Bertvar nodded. "Consider it done." He downed his goblet's contents in a single gulp, while Fandaniel sipped lightly. "We'll be in action within days. Gear up."

As Bertvar turned to leave with his fox in tow, Igeyorhm frantically produced a small pathway, presumably to the Rift, and spat her wine within, leaving it to fall for all eternity.

The marten snorted. "Couldn't even serve us good stuff."

"Ah, well." Fandaniel sighed. "This is one step of a great scheme. And by the end of it, this iteration of the Northlands will be thrown into chaos. If Bertvar wins by any way, we might just have to turn against him at any given moment. On the other paw, if those shrews triumph over their enemy, then we are here to stop them."

"And the Northlands will be hurtled into disorder, the likes nobeast have seen before." Igeyorhm reached out one paw, and the fox from before, clearly leading against the tent but a second ago, hurtled in. Though he could not sense it, Fandaniel could say that Conjuration was being embraced. After all, the fox couldn't even move in his current state. despite nothing visible tying him up.

"Ah, so the wolf mistrusts us already." Igeyorhm smiled, and even Fandaniel couldn't help but shudder. "No matter." She must have done something, for at that moment the fox collapsed, his eyes tired, and he wandered out of the tent as if nothing had happened.

"That wasn't as easy as I had hoped, but Emetselk did tell me about Pressuring. That fox will be loyal to us if need arises."

_What would Thordan say about all this? Sowing chaos, destroying worlds, just for the pursuit of a mad dream? _Fandaniel failed to hold back a slight grin.

"The earth is fertile, and the seeds well sown. Now we let this shard's beasts water them, and they shall reap salvation far more than what this world has known."

* * *

**A/N: Surprise, surprise! Welcome to the Watershard, everyone! Credits to Seb for giving me permission to use his world, as well as Bertvar and Furgly!**

**ARR enters into its final phases now, and I hope you like it! A nice holiday gift, if it please you.**

**Chapter 40 (**_**Thunderer**_**) will be up on 25/26 December!**


	40. Thunderer

**Review responses for my devoted fanbase!**

**Grey: Yeah, I don't think anyone would like Lorcan after that conversation. But such was reality in bygone times - love will be sacrificed for duty. And the hares thing... ha! More reason to hate on Somerled! Yay! Who doesn't like that? Heavensward is cool indeed, but not to the point to sleeping with it. Fandaniel and Igeyorhm - oh, sorry. Doga and Unei plot the demise of shrews... considering where I brought the names from, that is an incredibly rare sentence.\**

**Keva: If everything goes through as planned... the last time that happened was all too long ago. Garrion had to die somewhen - TBBU limits me again. Bertvar and Furgly! What are they up to? See the next chapter of The Unbroken for details! If it ever comes out, that is.**

**Abe: Multiverses, baby! Lorcan doing a dirty joke of all otters... Nothing can really be expected nowadays, right? Lots of Morag stuff... Morag being raised by Somerled is a factor in her brattiness of sorts, but that may change later... Yes. I do have a problem with Becker's sons. All three of them. Or rather, Jade does. Have to make things canon, you know. Finally, the Watershard! Doga and Unei! Warrior and assassin! Twin banes of shrews! Again, read The Unbroken!**

**Seb: Urgh. Arranged marriages. Awkward stuff. Especially when it has been revealed that Alfyn had a daughter with somebeast else before... and congrats for being the only reviewer to point out Becker's assault! Wait. You saying that I can write emotion? How can this be? Oh, and thanks for lending me your world. I appeciate it very much! Now... back to Discord. Plotting ensues!**

* * *

**Thunderer**

* * *

**GYSTRA, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD**

"So… why do you need me anyway?" Denebas crossed his arms at the sight of what his subordinates have brought in.

Captain Bodvar Waycaster and his cronies were not the surprising bit. After all, Denebas had went deep into enemy territory to collect him.

The surprising bit was Thordan Swalestrom popping out of nowhere.

"Er… take a seat." Thordan plopped down into a couch at Denebas' request. He looked decidedly worse for wear. His eyes seemed dull and lightless, and who did _that _to his jaw had all but ensured that no female would look at him longingly - his tongue lolled out from his mouth like a worm for a start. Not that Thordan would care about maids.

Bodvar and Valdas had done the same. The room they were in was quite wide for a one-person bedroom in one of Gystra's best inns, and there was enough space to fit all eleven beasts. There were the three Southards who failed to behave like prisoners, the remaining six Borellers who had grown listless and bored, and a faltering king.

"I need you to explain dueling law. Bo- Captain Bodvar here has challenged my to a duel, or something something something. Is that legal anyways?"

"Well…" Thordan rubbed his chin. "Duelling is banned in Southsward."

"Well… but the challenge is _technically_ offered in Dravania, and King Thordan did not ban beasts killing each other for more civilized reasons, did he?"

"Well… the offense of duelling was banned in Southsward in around 620 Post Fundammenta. Far after the last King of Dravania dropped the title, in fact, but can a common soldier challenge a king?" Thordan's brows closed together, looking hopefully at Denebas.

The squirrel couldn't find anything to comfort him. "Sorry, Your Majesty, but there is no evidence for that being disallowed by law and custom both."

"Never mind. And just call me Thordan." Thordan looked at the Southard captain despairingly.

"Well… if you refuse a duel, you have no honour. Plain and simple." Bodvar smirked.

"You know an awful lot about honour and duelling for a Southard." Denebas rolled his eyes as he shifted into a more comfortable position.

"You know an awful lot about peace for a Trielian, little lord." The otter sneered. "Besides, I'm half Dravanian, though Thordan here is not my king - not in a million seasons, not even when the earth beneath me cracks into pieces."

"Well, I think I can take Thordan's place!" Denebas raised a paw. "So much for peace - traitors like you deserve nothing but the sword."

"What he does is legal, right Bodvar?" Thordan cocked his head to the other otter.

"Yes. According to what I was taught, sometimes a capable warrior may fight in the name and honour of a clearly outclassed friend."

Thordan paid no heed to that last insult. "Very well. Just when are we doing this?"

* * *

**KALDOS, KINGDOM OF DRAVANIA**

Becker remembered the threat he made to Lord Alfyn about the catapults, and he smiled. It was funny for the Dravanians by then, but in hindsight, it became downright hilarious.

He had catapults, alright. Loaded on his ships, they made a concerted effort to destroy as many as Lord Lorcan's ships as possible.

Of course, the defenders tried to sally out, tried to cause as much damage as possible.

That was when the hilarious part kicked in - the punchlines were siege towers, four of them, each of them taller than the city walls themselves.

Now Becker could just sit in a chair and watch as the defenders scramble to their positions. Alfyn Stalwart was there, ordering about all ten of the defenders. He could be expected to be led to Floret a prisoner if he was lucky.

A sizzling found filled the air, and an ashen smell as well! The tower was on fire!

"Do not panic! We're almost to the walls!" Becker shouted at his captains. But, of course, they were frightened, and frightened beasts could be too panicked to follow orders.

And above all else, terror was contagious.

Within a few seconds, all the beasts in the hold were simply fleeing, despite Becker's orders. The smell of panic went paw in paw with that of burning wood, and soon Becker was forced to make a hasty retreat as well.

After too much coughing and sputtering, Becker wandered up into the open air. The tower could be saved, yes, though it would take much more experienced siege engineers than what he had. He gasped at the sight of a second tower burning, and a hare holding a spear and a lit lamp - clearly the tool used to set the siege equipment alight.

The hare turned, and saw the otterlord, and Becker could have sworn that he almost dropped both objects. In surprise at being discovered, perhaps?

Then the hare ran.

Becker brushed off the ash on his armour, as he sat down on the grass. _Cowardly hare. One day you'll be thrust into a _real _fight._

* * *

**DOMA, LORDSHIP OF DOMA**

Family fights were not a rare occurrence in Doma.

"Oh. So you're going _against _Lord Canute's law by taking your own portion of the Lordship?" Sverker finally had enough of his brother pushing him around, and went to the point.

"Grandfather broke tradition, and King Thordan declared his law illegal anyways!" Bertil put a grip on his spear as Harald reached for his sword. The hedgehog had never held a weapon after Raevsvakt, though if Harald tried doing something to Lord Sverker, he could count himself lucky if he got off with a 'mere' stab to the throat.

"Enough! Both of you!" Lord Valdemar shouted, and the squabbling stopped for now. "I have not decided yet, but both of you will get your dues."

"But-" Sverker piped up.

"Speak a second time, and I shall send you to the Shieldbrothers." After his ambitions for Niels had been quashed by Lorelei's sudden arrival, and Corrado taking care of Guido Aldabreschi faster than he had expected, he somehow became more irascible than expected. Were it not for Sverker reining him in, Bertil would have lost his temper, job and perhaps life at the spot.

"My father had long dreamed of being King of Parma, though I have other plans for myself." Valdemar stood up from his seat. "The Parman throne is not worth it. An empty title for an empty-headed king. Beasts with more capability and ambition have tried to sit on that accursed chair, and all of them have lost much more than they could have gained." He turned to his sons. "I have plans for both of you. You two will travel to Floret, and make an attempt to secure an alliance with Southsward. Father planned for Sverker to marry Lady Bellamy, and I shall continue his plans, though in a different direction."

"Then why am I going as well?" Harald crossed his paws and inquired. Brutish and direct, he was as undiplomatic as a Crestworth can be. He was like Lord Canute the most, of all beasts, and perhaps this was why he and Lord Valdemar favoured him. Sverker, on the other paw, was closer to the Grandmaster of the Shieldbrothers and the current King of Parma.

"In case Lady Bellamy would not like a scatter-brained fool stuck to her for the rest of her life, you are there to remind her he is not my only son."

* * *

**MUIR, LORDSHIP OF VARGO, KINGDOM OF OTHARN, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA**

The seaside town of Muir had been a popular tourist destination for nobles. Long owned by House Skyward, it has benefited greatly from the patronage and fair rule of King Thordan - the second one. He had propped up a small seaside village to a proper resort and spa town, visited there once or twice, and managed to avoid taxing it into the very heavens.

And now, Corrado Truetide can finally enjoy a rest here, before he would meet Niels here, of course.

Warring was tiring, after all, and having his wife getting closer and closer to labour was still a worrying thought. Lorelei almost had to drag him here to relax a bit. Despite her overbearing nature, the favouritism she showed her elder son time and time again, and her inability to respect Niels, Corrado decided that she is still a beast of good ideas.

Corrado reached for his glass of cider. The taste was tart and sour, but it was a novel sensation - Eduard, glad to be back in his hometown, had introduced the beverage to him, and Corrado could not say that he hated it.

Near the sea, otterpups swam and everybeast else was busy building little castles made of sand. While not a good exercise militarily, Corrado remembered his grandfather teaching him how to build one. He had to wonder if he would get to teach any one of his sons how to play as well as rule.

"Lord Corrado!"

The otter half-expected that it was one of his mother's messengers calling him, but a turn to his head indicated that it is much worse. Normally, a fox was expected to be brown of fur if from the north, or to possess a body full of fur the colour of a setting sun.

But this one had fur the shade of night, and Corrado groaned.

"Isangrim, what now?" The fox seemed less smug than before - in fact, something seemed to have happened to him that made him seem more jumpy and alert than proud and calm. Corrado could only offer this most sincere thanks to the beast who changed the fox for the better. "Why does Mother call me this time? Did Grandfather leap up from his grave or something?"

"Well, good joke. I appreciate your sense of humour." The fox seemed panicky for a second. "But this is just an announcement."

"An announcement, huh?"

"King Guillame of Valnain is dead."

Corrado could only count himself lucky that he had nothing in his mouth. "What?"

"He perished in suspicous circumstances, and the Valnainer authorities are chasing after the killer as we speak."

"And I presume that killer stands before me, yes?" Corrado got to his footpaws.

"Wha-" Isangrim jumped. "This isn't last time, Corrado! It wasn't my crossbow or something!" The fox got close to Corrado and whispered. "They say he burned to death in his bedsheets. The entirety of Valnain is panicking right now."

Corrado gasped. _How could a king die without even the slightest semblance of dignity? _"Did he drop a candle or something?"

"There was no candle in the room." The smugness returned to spymaster's face. "One moment he was soundly asleep, the other he was burning alive, screaming for help."

"Then Great Seasons have seen fit to punish him for his many transgressions, by way of the flames. Any other news?"

"Well… Raimon of Aldernan has been sighted in Arnet - they say he is trying to set himself up with the widowed Avelyn Stalwart."

"Good." _At least he has stopped chasing a Swalestrom._

"And your mother's set off for Thavnair."

"What?" Corrado almost spilled his drink. "She didn't tell me about it."

"Well, considering that you are a strong, independent, full-grown beast, you can take care of yourself, right?" Isangrim smirked. "Oh, and expect a corpse to be delivered to you soon. Trust me. You'll love it."

* * *

**BURELAS, DUCHY OF BURELAS, KINGDOM OF TRIEL**

Bride and groom strode up to the altar, the witnesses being up there already.

Altayras looked at his left. Morag certainly looked confident enough, though he could assume that she was nervous as well. After all, rampaging Southard army or not, the marriage had to go through before Southsward could stop it in any peace treaty, justified or not.

Duke Domnall is expected to die without an heir, and the Deilart bloodline had to continue through his niece. Even before Duke Somerled's lifetime, the threat that Southard or Triel would annex the border territory could be rendered true.

Clothed in white like a proper Trielian bride, the sole Boreller characteristic left to the bride was a rue wreath, worn on her neck - a symbol of innocence. Altayras did not know exactly how innocent she exactly was - rumours of her being more than friendly with her vermin were buzzing all across Deilart - but she had slept with no squirrel, and that was enough for Altayras.

Morag did not seem to enjoy tormenting him. 'Half-vermin' was a derogatory term for Borellers used from way back when, due to them not being 'civilised' enough to be 'proper' woodlanders. Altayras' future wife never used this term once - at least not in front of him. It could be a sign of respect, a product with her friendship with Vega, or her 'liking' of vermin.

It does not matter.

Exchanging paws, the spouses-to-be stood motionlessly as King Garmund walked to their side. He was the officiator, and their king as well - it would do them well not to speak.

With a nod by the mouseking, the silence was broken.

"Both of us have come here, willingly and without constraint by forces alien to us." Boreller weddings were vastly different to all those in the world - for instance, vows were not used.

Then there was the crowning. A visitor may have thought that King Garmund would not have liked it, but traditions have to be kept. Besides, he needed every single drop of Boreller support to keep the war floating. Altayras managed to clinch a compromise for wooden crowns to be used instead of the traditional one made of metal, and they say Garmund was appeased.

Both squirrels, red and grey, knelt on both footpaws as their king reached for the wooden bands. They have been carved elaborately by the best of carpenters, though no names were etched on them (just to make them easily reusable). "Great Seasons, crown them with glory and honour as husband and wife." Altayras felt the smooth wood make contact with his headfur.

Morag stood up, and her husband followed, mentally cursing for forgetting his cue. He looked around the room. Denebas was nowhere to be seen - a pity, while Vega and Duke Domnall smiled with pride - or what looked like pride.

Further study of their expressions would be impossible, as Morag took the liberty to embrace him. Not doing the same thing would not be polite, so Altayras put his paws around her waist, and closed their eyes as their lips met. It was not a perfect kiss, but that was enough. They were husband and wife, after all, and that was what mattered. Love would have to wait.

The war was lost, Denebas was far, far away, and Altayras had married a traditional enemy, but all could still be well.

* * *

**FLORET, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD**

Bellamy dropped the letter. Her mother was dead.

Corrado Truetide's written message indicated that she lost the will to live on her journey to Vargo, though nothing could be proven yet. All could have happened. A sudden case of food poisoning, or even a dagger in the neck. The otterlord has promised to deliver both her body and her son's to Floret, though it may just be some Parman lie.

The lady collapsed into her seat. Father and Garrion were away fighting, all three of her cousins have fought against her country at some point, and one of them has crowned himself, or so the rumours say. Now her mother has followed her other brothers to the grave.

When she finally felt the tears dripping onto her dress, she had curled herself into a ball, reliving memories that were long gone, and sobbing like there was no tomorrow.

She wanted to see those responsible for so much tragedy to perish - to be ground up like pepper and ashes scattered to the wind, never to rest in peace - but who could she blame? Southsward started this whole mess, and the Trielians have lost just as much as she had.

She sighed, and wiped her tears, her sobs finally drawing to a close. Now was a time of strength, not weakness.

* * *

**GYSTRA, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD**

Captain Bodvar tested his weapon with a mock swing. The tuck-blade was a beautiful thing, edgeless, it may have been, but it was sharply pointed - very much so. Lord Denebas had loaned him this blade, and it was agreed that he would have it back after all was done.

Just on the safe side, Thordan had asked for the combatants to stop after first blood. Bodvar had to agree. Though the squirrel lordling had been trained in the art of dueling, Bodvar had seen more fighting than the squirrel could imagine.

The sword was designed to rip through mail as a normal knife did with butter, though both combatants were to be unarmoured - voluntary decisions from both of them. After all, even the thickest of plate has gaps that can be stabbed through.

A deep cough blasted through the air. That was Thordan Swalestrom, of course, with his disfigured jaw and tired look. Bodvar pitied him a little. A little.

The otter 'king' was holding a piece of scrap paper in his paw, which was his scrambled copy of the traditional duelling rules and announcements and other boring things which seemed to be fitting for a boring beast.

"Bod-" Thordan shouted, and winced within a second. "_Captain _Bodvar Waycaster shall challenge Lord Denebas Burelas, to a duel to first blood. You may begin!"

The squirrel was clearly waiting for Thordan to stop, as he rushed forward like a shark - and immediately stopped, just barely out of range.

Bodvar took a slight step left, and Denebas followed, gliding towards his left and twirling his blade. The otter suddenly cocked up his own sword, and placed it in a guarding position.

Everything was magnified. The sound of the crowd who gathered around the scene. The nervous breathing of Thordan. The tense stares of his brother and Pickner.

He feigned a stumble, and Denebas fell into the trap almost in an instant - like a moth to a bright flame, even. Taking a slightly offensive stance at the last moment, Bodvar tensed to meet Denebas' attack -

And he rolled away, clipping the squirrel's footpaw in the process. By the time Denebas was able to regain his composure, Bodvar had a footpaw on his blade, while his own was pointed at the squirrel's neck.

The lord had expected a duel.

Bodvar gave him a _fight_.

* * *

**A/N: Big F for Denebas.**

**Sverker and Harald may give one the impression of being expies of Jeefra and Pitru from High Rhulain - and you're not wrong. They're much more competent, of course, and they have their roles to play. Not big ones, but roles indeed.**

**I kinda botched the Bellamy segment, but this is one of those hard-to-write grief scenes. I don't really have a grasp on them, but I hope I handled it well anyways. I hope.**

**Chapter 41 (**_**Defender of the Realm**_**) will be up on 1/2 December! **

**N/N: MERRY CHRISTMAS! NARRATOR'S NOTES JUST FOR TODAY!**


	41. Defender of the Realm

**Responses:**

**Grey: Keep the headcanon. You thought of it, after all. Thordan? Plot armour? HAHAHAHAHAHA! No. Can't give anybeast an unfair advantage here, can I? Once again I have failed to allow my character to express emotion - but this time it is intentional. After all, denial is the first stage of trauma in most observed cases. What follows next is up for grabs. The wedding could be written better in the way that more words can be used, but I'm pretty satisfied how it turned out. The Crestworths will be focused on more in a sequel or three, and I have much regrets about my lack of focus here. Perhaps in the remaster... Oh, and Denebas had already lost.**

**Abe: Bodvar's one of those likeable douches. I was careless while writing him, though I am very, I mean _very _satisfied with how he turned out. As a rule, every time somebeast gets smug, you know something's going to turn wrong for him. Especially if that beast's an otter. Becker is no exception - the grave is no bar to an ex-brother's enmity, I suppose. Garmund being a total (CENSORED) is a big part of my writing. I mean, he's Jade's, and that's the way that she wanted to portray him. It isn't a matter of virginity here though - Altayras is really interested in securing the paternity of his first child. And no, Denebas isn't based on any real-life person.**

**Keva: As Cornflower once said in Redwall, there is no reason to be afraid to weep. Bellamy is too stressed to care, and this is quite a large dose of trauma, not to mention it being personal. To weep is to feel, and to feel is to be strong. Oh, and Bodvar won. Sorry about that...**

* * *

**Defender of the Realm**

* * *

**KALDOS, DRAVANIA, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD**

The travellers looked decidedly worse for wear. A change in the weather for the worse had made sure of that.

Becker looked from left to right. All the figures were drenched in rainwater.

There were three otters that were sent to capture his nephew, with the hedgehog somehow absent. Seven soldiers in Trielian garb, all sworn not to attempt an escape or cause trouble to their captors. One was dressed better than the others - Denebas Burelas, evidently. He was the only Boreller to be raised with the rapier instead of the spear.

The last figure in this group of eleven should be Thordan Swalestrom, called King of Dravania. He looked _poorly_. His jaw was mangled towards one side, and his fur was matted and unkempt.

"Ah, Lord Becker. Here is your nephew - oh, and a lot of other beasts as well."

"Good." Becker tried to show as little eagerness as possible. It was impolite to brag about a king, false as he may be, being in his possession, but Thordan was still kin. "You will receive your reward soon. You three may leave." The two non-royal otters and their murine companion quickly sprinted out of the hall, talking about what they would spend their gold on. The subject of Muir cider popped out quite a few times.

It was only after they had left that Becker rushed forward and hugged his nephew. "You aren't hurt, are you?" He tried to sound as gentle as possible. "Gates, say that you're not hurt!"

"I'm fine, uncle." Thordan's eyes lost much of his gleam. "Mostly. Aside from being crammed into a box, bound and gagged, and almost being tickled to death. No need to worry."

"Tickled?"

"I would rather not mention it." Contrary to Becker's previous interactions with him, Thordan seemed awfully terse.

Becker saw fit to turn to Denebas. "And you? What brings you here?"

"Chasing one of your beasts and losing a duel."

"Ah." Becker wanted to ask more, but that may be embarrassing for the squirrel. After all, a noble without a sense of pride is either no noble at all, or is named Thordan.

"What are you going to do with us then?" Becker turned to the speaker. Normally, he would have expected the ever curious Thordan to have asked, but this question came from the mouth of the squirrel, and not the otter. When Becker's eyes landed on Thordan's, he quickly looked away, muttering a pained whimper.

He was broken, and Becker was to blame.

"You'll see your friends soon. I promise." With that, he tried to walk away. He had a meeting to organise - a Swalestrom could never break his word.

* * *

**AVRANK BY FERRIM, KINGDOM OF TRIEL**

Galen knelt in front of the long-dead lord. Garrion perished in his sleep last night, a mere hour before he was supposed to wait.

Three other figures were there as well - Dirk was there, trying to recall a single incident that the lord had done anything memorable for him. The other two were Ralos, crying his eyes out for the first time since Galen and he had met, and a mole that Galen had never met. Dirk had told him that this was Dagbert, Garrion's old tutor. He was silently weeping, groaning about arriving too late and how he could have saved him if Sleet was there to open a path, or something similar to it. The body would be delivered to Floret soon enough, and birds were sent both there and Kaldos, where his father was currently stationed.

"Gale?" Dirk voiced softly, and as gently as he could. Galen's friend had gained a few scars after the last time he was seen, and his voice seemed more muted now. He had seen much, and Galen had to doubt that Dirk liked what he had seen.

"Yes?"

"You've been kneeling here for the better half of an hour." Dirk shifted a knee over to his friend.

Seeing the obvious cue, the taller otter got up. Galen's face was not as scar-marked as the other otter's; but he had seen his own fair share of fighting. It was just that leading from the rear led to less chances of injury, and even then, a few arrows have streaked near.

"What do you want?" Galen crossed his paws.

"I would like to make a confession."

"What would that be?"

Dirk sighed. "I have a s-" He paused to cough. "A slight jealousy of you. You're friends with a lord, and I'm just… a soldier."

Galen put a paw on his friend's shoulder. "You're the _best_ soldier, Dirk. Better than me, even. And I wasn't entirely honest about my past either."

Dirk nodded. "I figured that out. You never wanted to talk about it."

Garrion looked at the peaceful visage of Lord Garrion. He seemed more asleep than dead, but everybeast knew that that was not the case.

"I wanted to talk to Lord Garrion about this, but I never got that chance. Dirk?" Galen sighed, and took a deep breath. "My real name is Brink Rufeshodd."

"Brink?" Dirk hesitated. "Never knew a Brink."

"I don't remember much about my past though." Galen tapped his head. "I just remember a 'Keetch'... a friend. I can't remember how he was like. He was a squirrel or something… I must have banged my head."

"Where is he now?"

"Dead. A castle fell on him in a lightning storm. Sometimes I think I can still hear his voice." The otter knelt, overwhelmed with emotion. "Why? Why can I not remember anything?"

Dirk rushed forward and hugged his friend, lifting him up. "Don't worry, Gale. You still have me."

As Galen returned the gesture, he remembered the letter that Garrion had left for him. There is no time to waste on reminiscance.

* * *

**LOAMHEDGE **

Arbert got up from the ground. What he saw made him nauseous, and he was lucky not to have eaten anything just before he arrived.

Two pairs of eyes stared straight into his own. One was icy-blue, like the owner's favoured attack method. She carried with her a worried look and the knowledge the Narrator gave her.

The other was a playful set of green pupils, eager to experiment and gamble and play, and one who Arbert had seen before.

"Well… it seems that you're awake, little warrior." Thordan - no. Not Thordan anymore. Emetselk looked downwards at the mole with his signature smugness. "I trust you do not like what you saw, have you not?"

Arbert shook his head. Three visions of three futures, none of them being desirable outcomes, and he was dead in the one he found the slightest bit of happiness.

"Cheer up, Arbert. None of my visions came true." The otter laughed bitterly. "Can't believe that I got scammed by an incorporeal voice." He abruptly turned around, expecting a loud, booming 'I HEARD THAT' to erupt from the Loamhedge gorge. The otter offered a paw, which Arbert took, swinging himself up with the momentum.

"I thought your daughter and the black fox would have come by now, but it shall seem that I was mistaken." Arbert crossed his paws.

"Well.. Matoya thought that this place was open to all seers that could open a Pathway…" Emetselk slouched against a tree.

"Actually, this place is welcome to any vermin who comes with a woodlander, provided that one of them is a seer." The grey fox simply stated without batting an eye.

"Wait. What?" Arbert smirked as he saw the otter look downright surprised for the first time.

"It's what the Narrator says, anyway."

"Oh. He won't be wrong." Emetselk shifted into a relaxed stance while it was Hersent's turn to look agitated.

Sniffing the air in front of her, the vixen leapt to her footpaws. "Beasts are approaching. Many beasts. All vermin, I think. They smell!"

Within a second, the otter vanished from sight, the vixen alongside him. Arbert decided that it would be a good idea to put a Veil over himself as well.

Before a single minute had even passed, a trio of vermin had wandered into the clearing. By the looks of the tattoos on their faces, they were clearly Juska, geared up for the collection of weapons. Arbert tensed as he recalled that Finnbarr and Fatch were still strapped to his back.

"I smell somethin' weird." A ferret sniffed at the air like Hersent had just done. "Steel. Real good steel - the best."

"Narn woul' want dat." A fox stepped up. "Good weapons are hard ter come by. Can't let Sedjow get all the glory!"

"It's in dis direction!" The ferret rushed forward towards Arbert, who cut him down in a single stroke, Finnbarr in his paw. The vermin's head toppled onto the earth.

'What- get him!" The fox could only go one step towards the now visible mole before he was in turn cut down by a suddenly appearing otter. The third beast, a rat, could only gasp as his chest got blown open by a lance of ice.

"We should go now," the vixen said as coolly as she could, opening a pathway to the Rift.

"Agreed." Arbert was the first to step through.

* * *

**MAUPERT, KINGDOM OF VALNAIN**

Arn has had dinner with two lords as of this moment, and he could say for sure that he liked the former more.

Corrado was the typical woodlander. Brave, dashing, chivalrous - everything that Arn aspired to be. Well… he did have a couple of illegitimate children floating around Triel, but the point is that he settled down after marriage.

Renart, however, was the vermin archetype. Born and molded into what he is now by extraordinary hedonism. He was never to pass away an opportunity for more wine, nor the embrace (and perhaps more) from a maid. In addition, his sense of pride was overblown, and that was what Arn despised most of all.

But his troops needed the pay, and now here he was, dining with one of the worst lords ever to live. At least the wine was good.

"So… what is your next move, Lord Renart?" The weasel asked as he put a piece of woodpigeon into his mouth.

The fox wiped his mouth. "Well… thank you for escorting me here, Sir Arn." Renart had responded to the news of his knighthood by laughing aloud. For him, gaining honour was an alien concept - why bother understanding? "King Guillame is dead. Isangrim made sure of that." Seeing Arn's subtle nod, the boisterous fox continued. "Now I would like to plop myself cosy on the Valnainer throne - but I think you know that, do you not?"

Arn nodded once more. "You have indeed told me so. Though many beasts would try to bar your way, you are determined to be a king, whatever the cost."

If Renart detected the passive aggression in Arn's tone, he did not give any response. "That's where you come in, Arn Skulason." Seeing Arn's surprise, the fox grinned.

"You see, due to your peasant upbringing, you shouldn't really have an idea how it works. Valnainers elect their king from a collection of nobles, and who gets the most votes wins. Simple and clean!"

"And what exactly do you want me to do with the Southpaws?"

"Well, to walk into Valnain and threaten everybeast to vote for me, of course! Why do you need so much time getting everything?"

Arn had heard enough. "I may unmake beasts, and topple kings, but I will not make a king out of a beast without honour of any kind. You will not use me for this."

Renart nodded while his glare faded. Being angry at a beast who was trained in killing since a child was not a good idea, as honourable as he may claim to be, is a bad idea. "I see. Then I shall have to think of something else." He rubbed his chin as he shook his head, having been under the influence of too much alcohol. "You may leave my service now - I trust you have been paid prior to this day."

Arn nodded, and hurried out of the fox's castle with his band. He had a father to meet, and a brother to rescue.

* * *

**FLORET, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD**

Ellisiv figured that Bellamy had been slipping under a dark cloud. Her friend had lost a brother and another, then a mother, and finally her last brother. It would be better if Ellisiv had stayed away from her for a while, but King Gideon had other plans for her.

The squirrelking was never one to emulate his royal ancestors. He was already celebrating winning the war under his auspices, while doing absolutely nothing for 'his' victory. Ellisiv reckoned he couldn't even blow his nose without an advisor.

No raging could bring Garrion back from the dead though. Ellisiv thought as him as a mere friend at best. He would much rather bring a book into bed than with her, and he would rather perform one of his _legendary _discourses than just talking to her like a normal otter.

In a way, he was still better than his brothers, but he was not an otter a maid would marry for love. Despite that, he loved her still. He just could not express his emotions well enough for her - just like both of his male cousins.

"Bellamy?" Ellisiv crawled through the door to her room.

"I don't really want to talk…" The ottermaid moaned. Her eyes were red and tired from crying, and she clung on to what happiness she could possess - to no avail.

"King Gideon sent me here to tell you something." Bellamy looked at her former sister in-law. He wants you to marry Lord Alfyn Stalwart."

A very short silence followed, followed without interlude by a screech by Bellamy.

"He can't do that! I… not now!"

"He wants a Trielian otter under his fold." Ellisiv was never the rational one in the duo, but she had to pick up the role. "If you marry him, the two Otterguards would be bound together by blood, and war will not happen again!"

Bellamy said nothing as Ellisiv knelt beside her. "That is what Garrion would want," the older otter gently said.

"But that's not what I want!" The younger ottermaid stood up. "Alfyn's just some Trielian clodhopper that just wants me to bear his son!" Then she decided that she would say words that have never before been spoken in Southsward. "I'm calling a tournament. And nobeast will stop me doing that!"

* * *

**KALDOS, KINGDOM OF DRAVANIA**

It did not take long for Egil to realise something was up.

Becker's tone was all too confident in his letter, despite his defeat in his assault a few days earlier - if it could even be called that. The Dravanians received few casualties, though admittedly the Southards did as well.

He did mention that Triel was in no position to help Alfyn though - Avrank was a testament to that. The road to Arnet lay wide open, and Ralos would just march his army through before King Garmund could do anything.

If Egil was lucky, the General would free all the slaves he could get their paws on. After all, what better way was there to damage the Trielian economy, and get a good deal of support in the process? It could cut Parman support from Triel, but that would be better than leading the entirety of the Southard force here to Kaldos.

It only took a few more moments before the weasel understood the otterlord's tone.

Thordan was in his paws, and anything could happen.

In a moment, Alfyn and Lady Sigrun rushed to Egil's side, no doubt attracted by his scream. They did manage to stop themselves from doing the same, and immediately headed to Lord Strandsor, leaving Egil alone in his thoughts. Thordan, a prisoner. His father had asked him to keep him safe, and now he has been leashed by his kin.

_Once he has been transported back to Floret… _Egil shuddered at what would happen to him. Locked up for the rest of his miserable life? Having his eyes put out, never to gaze upon a pretty maid ever again? Learning what happens after the head is separated from the body the hard way? There was no way that Thordan could just walk out of the grasp of the Southards.

And then all verminkind would be doomed.

Egil slapped the part of him that thought that. Thordan's brother Corrado was still alive, judging by Arn's return letter to Egil, and was inclined to using vermin as a force for good. Lorelei would stand yet despite her son being taken out, but she would trust in vermin still, considering the fox by her side.

But there was still hope.

He put down everything, and ran for the exit, almost knocking down a few servants along the way, earning him a few angry looks. Panting with every breath, the vermin nearly crumbled into a heap when he reached Lord Alfyn, cloaked in emissary white from head to toeclaw.

"I'll go with you. I'll see Thordan with you, even if that would be the last thing I do."

* * *

**A/N: Short chapter here!**

**And so A Realm Reborn slowly but surely ends. Very few real life wars end in one big battle, but slowly fizzle out like a can of Coca Cola left in the air for too long. No Mentos this time. This one should end in a treaty and a tournament - if nothing seery happens.**

**Chapter 42 (**_**Within**_**) will be up on 15/16 January! And happy new year!**


	42. Within

**Review Responses up here!**

**Grey: Yes, Thordan is being stupid. The barrel incident seemed to have dulled his nerves a bit. Becker is quite good for an uncle - the 'Evil Uncle' trope is a good one to subvert. Let us see if 'Evil Nephew' would be easier... Galen is Brink! I'm sorry about killing Garrion off - Jade is still canon, and things like that are inevitable. He did deserve better... Future Number One subverted! Pay attention, everyone! I want future theories to make sense! Arn is definitely one of my more interesting characters, and one of the best to write. I hope to leave him more room in the remaster and the sequels. Oh, and I would agree with you if you say that Skuli's family is the only non-dysfunctional one in ARR. You got that right, Grey! The tournaments are also a Jade thing. A fun parley to follow up what was before indeed.**

**Abe: Becker, a good uncle? Yes... I mean, he's the better uncle when compared to Erlend. Thordan becoming more cynical could happen, but you shouldn't know anything yet. ;) Like I said, Garrion may have to die, but one thing I had always did relatively poorly was Galen and Dirk****'s relationship. Considering how Jade wrote these two, they seem forced here. Arbert expecting the Narrator to talk back to him is one of my more comedic moments that are quite rare in ARR. I'm glad I painted Arn and Renart as characters you love to love and love to hate. Ellisiv is definitely a good friend. Of course, that doesn't meant hat Bellamy _has _to take her advice. She has her own path to walk, and everybeast can be wrong sometimes. The tournament. TBBU readers, if any, would know this...**

**Seb 40: Thordan being Thordan, he always chooses the option with the least amount of death. Unless it is useless, which this time it is not. As you know, Bodvar is one of those creatures you dont know whether to love or to hate, and I leave him to your brain. Old Thordan rising from the grave? Why would anyone think that? Not literally, no. ****Being careful not to add emotion when it is enough is a challenge to any author, so i hope I handled everything well. Bodvar... yes. Thordan was right to worry.**

**Keva 41: Yes! She can do that! I should have left hints, but she can! And yes, one would be Alfyn! The Crestworth brothers too, perhaps? Poor Egil indeed - but worrying is of no use. Let us see events unfold, shall we?**

**Seb 41: Oh, come on! Becker's a better uncle than we had bargained for. The question is not if Becker would do nasty stuff to Thordan, but... not telling. I could have written Galen and Dirk better, but I'm glad you and everyone else are satisfied. (You guys are so easy to please - I love you all!) This is a world with magic going on! Nowhere is exactly safe. Flee to another world, and see if you are free from all that the Source entails. Just see. Vermin being the good guys? I must have read Dungeons and Dragons too much. In the end, nobody knows what will happen... Bellamy and Alfyn... their wedding will surely be fun to write, though if it even happens is questionable... ****Why would everything end in bloodshed, hm? :)**

* * *

**Within**

* * *

**KALDOS, KINGDOM OF DRAVANIA**

Thordan watched as his uncle strolled around the tent. He can see that Lord Becker was nervous, despite his efforts to hide his anxiety.

It had been a few hours after he had landed right in the middle of Becker's camp. He had been treated well - better than before, and Lord Becker just would not stop apologising about the box and all the other tortures, but he would take this over the barrel, and gladly so. A warm fire, good food, and the company of those he liked - how much would Thordan give for all three!

"Eager to see your friends again?" The older otter asked without warning, shattering Thordan from his cosy thoughts. Sitting down into his chair, Becker was very different since the last time they had met. Well, that was three years ago, but he seemed ancient, despite being younger than Thordan's namesake grandfather by a good twenty seasons.

"Yes." Not in the mood to talk, Thordan could only hope that no further questions would be asked - hopes that were dashed to pieces when Becker opened his mouth again.

"You must like that weasel very much - I mean, he's actually loyal to you. Not a lot of vermin can boast of being loyal."

"You wouldn't understand." Thordan shook his head.

"I'll do my best." Becker missed another cue to stop his mouth. "His father set you two up, had he not? All for making Raevsvakt a haven for his kind. A noble goal for a weasel."

Thordan said nothing and nodded.

"You're not a bad beast, Thordan." Moving his chair closer to his nephew, Becker continued to go on one of his tangents. "Well, aside from the treason and all that. Seriously. If you were never here, we could be in Arnet right now."

Before Becker's mood can take a turn for the worse, Thordan decided to change the subject. "So everything is ending now, is it? What plans do you have for me?"

"Plans are not for me to make, Young Thordan." Becker made a gesture with a paw. "My duty is to take you towards Floret, after you kindly ask the creatures under you to lay down their arms, of course."

"What will happen to me after I do that?"

"Well… you have to ask King Gideon for that. I do not think I have a say in your fate."

"Let us both hope for the best." Thordan sighed. "Why? Just why did you start this war?"

The older otter rolled his eyes. "Triel had a stranglehold over Southsward politics, and no measure in peacetime can help it break free. The only way to help Southsward is for Southard blood to be shed, and Trielian blood with it."

"With so much talk of blood, you seem notably unscathed." Thordan crossed his paws, feeling lucky for once that his paws were not restrained.

With a surge, Becker's paw cuffed Thordan's head, eliciting a pained cry in return. "I could do nothing but watch all three of my boys sacrifice themselves for Southsward! Clever Garrion, strong Godred and witty Bedric will be no more, while crowned beasts who do nothing like you still live!" He took a deep breath, than sat down again. "You have the rest of your life to think about it. Whether you keep your crown, liberty or life does not matter. Ensure that our kin are not forgotten!" He sighed. "And you're going to give another one of your stoic nods, are you?"

"They will not be forgotten." Thordan echoed. "Your sons will not be left for oblivion to claim them, and neither will my father or brother."

The otterlord tried to squeak a protest, but decided not to. "Your father is a goodbeast fighting on the wrong side."

A brief silence was broken by Thordan. "That's what Father used to say about you." He let his head drop. "He still blames you for the Sigrid thing."

"That was _not _me." Becker tensed up. "Besides, I would have gone for you first if I happened to play foul."

"That is not comforting at all."

"Ah well. Politics is often disconcerting. You should be glad that the crown over your head won't be worn in quite a while."

A figure in red poked his head out from the tent. Denebas Burelas may have been an alien figure here, but he seemed to know every single tent here. Borellers were, and still are warrior folk, able to differentiate between the most similar of weapons. He had been Trielised to some degree, but he knows who he is.

Standing aside him was Lord Rueford, who was basically Becker's detachable shadow. Were it not for him, Dravania would have a king in the form of Erlend. What he lacked in strategic acumen, he had in impetus.

"The Dravanians have arrived here. They are ready to talk."

"Alright." Becker stood up, gesturing Thordan to do the same. "I think I'll handle the talking, lad. Stay silent if you have to."

Thordan, true to himself, nodded.

* * *

They walked for quite a bit.

The camp was big, for one. Otterguards were in quite the celebratory mood. After all, Lord Becker had just won the war while shedding little to no blood. The enemy king was in his pockets, and celebrations were reported to be underway in Floret. The scent of alcohol filled the air - a common occurrence while soldiers celebrate, and the wind transmitted the smell of caught birds roasting on the fires. Bodvar waved at him as if he was a common friend of his - and not a royal torture victim.

But those trivial things bothered Thordan not.

Standing on the opposite side of the camp were four figures. Lord Strandsor and his son were swiftly ignored in favour of the tall otter and the short weasel. Without a single trace of thought, the otterking saw fit to throw decorum out of the window and rushed forward, ending up in a solid embrace.

"THOOOOOORDAN!" The smallest mustelid plummeted into Thordan's paws. "Glad to see you alive and well!"

"Gates, we missed you!" Alfyn was no less excited, though he tried to hide his emotions. "What happened to your jaw?"

"Stair trouble." Thordan let go of his two friends. "Where's my sister? She's safe, right? Did anything happen to her?"

"Well… she's with Lord Lorcan. She swore never to talk to Lord Becker in parley, for fear of him throwing a hissy-fit." Egil grinned. Fates afire, it was _good _to see the weasel again. It was good to see that the weasel had not left him.

"I did _not _throw a hissy-fit!" Becker interjected, causing three pairs of eyes to look straight at him. "Sorry for interrupting your tender moment."

"No problem." Thordan crossed his paws. "If you can stuff kings into boxes and start wars of massive proportions, then I doubt that you would have qualms here."

"Well… this is personal." Becker prepared to walk away when Egil spoke, for once concerned.

"Those rumours about Thordan and I being… closer than friends. Those were your fault, yes?'

Becker nodded. "No use denying it now, though it was not my idea. I just fanned the flames. After all, all rumours have some truth to them."

"You don't honestly believe them, do you?" Alfyn walked closer to the other otterlord. "The rumours that you had helped spread?"

"Not really. Besides, I have plans for little Thordan here."

"Plans?" Thordan had never heard of them - or even knew of them, for that matter.

'Well… it's complicated. Boils back from before you were born. I'll talk to you soon enough." He gave a smile. "In the meantime, can we discuss terms for surrender and the like? I believe that we have come for the exact same purpose."

"Very well. Name your terms, Lord Becker." Lord Gustav spoke for the first time. He was quite the slimy figure - an unstable ally of Lord Erlend. During Thordan's time in the box, he had suspected the lord of being responsible for his forced absence, though it seemed unlikely. The fact that the Strandsors were standing next to Alfyn and Egil was proof enough.

"You're actually surrendering?" Alfyn turned, while Lord Gustav took a step backward. "Do you expect to end the whole Dravain war business as easily as you started it?"

"Alfyn." Thordan's voice made the tall otter take a deep breath. "I would rather do the negotiating myself. But not now. I have a few affairs to take ca-"

"By chance you're not running away, would you?"

Thordan turned his head, stopping in his tracks. "No. I swore not to."

"Spoken like a true Dravanian, king or not." Becker chuckled. "Despite this, I doubt you can be trusted - you're too much like your grandfather. Don't worry though, I'll take good care of you. An armed guard shall suffice."

"How so?" Egil asked, with an angry look on his face. "You will not simply hand our king back to us, and wrench him away from our paws within minutes!"

"I have no such intention. It is not the Southard way to dangle my own kin in front of your gates, after all. Anyways, Kaldos is Southard, by occupation if not by bloodright."

"I have to ask you one single thing, uncle." Thordan decided that there was no better time to speak - not today, anyways. "None of the city's inhabitants be burdened. No fire-tax or anything. Their lives will be left alone, without any loss of life and property."

"It is agreed." Becker nodded, and sighed loudly. "You may not be brave, but you possess great wisdom that I wish your father had."

Thordan smiled sadly. "Like you said, I'm too much like my grandfather."

* * *

The takeover was fast and efficient.

The key was handed over to Becker by Regent Gustav Strandsor, as Lord Becker insisted that his nephew be spared from further humiliation. Southard troops surged into the city, with no crowd cheering them on, but no riot stopping them.

Meanwhile, Thordan was escorted into his rooms by the Waycasters, who kindly stayed silent in their trip through the streets of Kaldos. They were silent, of course, with all the Southards in. Nobeast dared to oppose a direct order from their young king, least of all when thousands of armed beasts were roaming the streets.

The castle was now Becker's, to manage if not to own, so Thordan had to wait for the gates to be opened. When they _did _open, the otterking rushed forwards into his bedroom.

The servants had still cleaned everything despite his absence, and Thordan was grateful for them. Rows of books still lined the shelves, and his desk was still spotless after all this time.

Except for the chess piece on it.

Strangely, it was not broken - Thordan couldn't even manage to do that, but somehow it was here in Kaldos.

Lifting up the wooden piece, the otter's gaze fell on a piece of paper lying beneath the figure. He rapidly picked it up and spread it apart, furrowing his brows when he saw Dagbert's paw-writing.

_Dear King Thordan Swalestrom,_

_I would like to apologise sincerely for your past experiences. Kidnapping you, as you may recall, was a poor decision on my part, and torturing you more so._

_As a gesture of reconciliation, you can have your Amplifier back. I have no idea why you had abandoned it in the first place, but I would say with confidence that your life will be easier if it is in your possession._

_What I had told you in Viksten was all true. Your grandfather and Isangrim the fox had already participated in the destruction of entire worlds and their populations. Millions of innocent beasts have lost their lives thanks to the actions of those two seers. Do beware of them. Especially your namesake. Dead he may be, he is still a credible threat to all that exists._

_Within my secret journey to Loamhedge, I have foreseen three futures. The first is all worlds being destroyed by the Ward, while you sit calmly on the Dravain throne. The second is you blinded and half-mad, languishing in the dungeons of Castle Floret for all eternity. The third is you dying at our paws. You fought bravely, though you made too many mistakes, and was slain with relative ease._

_Though my tone may seem threatening, it is advice I bring, not a show of force. Walk your own path, Thordan Swalestrom. Many beasts, seers or not, will seek to guide your steps. So far, of all beasts that carry noble blood in their veins, only King Niels of Otharn can be trusted, and not even him can even be relied on. Perhaps Palatine Corrado can be trusted, though nothing can be sure, except that you should stay away from your mother, for good or for ill._

_Lastly, if you see Hersent the grey vixen, I beg you that you lead her away from Isangrim. She is a Thaumaturge of potential, yet with such a dark cloud by her side, it will no doubt corrupt her, even by your standards. Use her as your mother would, though do try to refrain from murder. Isangrim had sowed death on no less than two kings now._

_I am sure that you are a better beast than your grandfather. Once again, I regret what I had done to you, and I hope to make amends in the near future._

_May your imprisonment be brief, and may you walk free soon enough._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Dagbert, Castle Archivist of Floret._

_P.S. Do be aware that Conjuration cannot be accessed in Floret, nor Thaumaturgy as well. The reason is complex, and would require a long explanation that I am unable to give now. Perhaps the next time._

Thordan's paws tightened as his finished reading the last few words. He had a way out of everything now. He could run away from Lord Becker's forces, here and now, disregarding his oaths, but surely that would lead to more harm than good. He simply cannot let Lord Becker ransack his city due to him having cold footpaws. The young otter would meet his fate with as much courage as a king could muster.

Besides, Dagbert would surely drag him back to Floret if that were the case, with his teeth even, should it prove to be necessary.

Putting the figure down, the otterking walked out of his room.

* * *

Thordan had been here before, sitting down under a tree, with his friends watching over him. How close he had come to driving Egil away was clear, but the weasel had stayed loyal to him time after time.

But Egil had been accounted for, while Thordan's sister had not.

"Sigrun, I'm sorry," Thordan sat down next to the ottermaid. Sigrun had been unharassed by Becker, who knew that speaking to her would probably lead to further humiliation, either of Thordan or Becker himself.

"Oh, it's not your fault." Sigrun never even turned her head towards her brother. "Aside from that one time you got kidnapped. And that other where you didn't crown yourself until it was too late. When you just surrendered Kaldos do the Southard as well."

"Well-"

"I do wonder what Father would say. Seeing you crowned and all that." Sigrun spat.

"I wasn't a good king." Thordan nodded, "but-"

"You were a goodbeast - you still are." Sigrun nodded. "But the further you stay from any throne the better." She spun away from her brother. "I misjudged you. You'll never know what it is to truly rule. To defend, to pass judgement, to safeguard the lives of thousands of beasts!"

"Sister, I-"

The thought dawned on her to give him the worst wound she could have given. "I wish Father married my mother instead of yours. I wish Sigurd lived and ruled while you buried your snout in books and tomes! I wish you were never born from that Parman fox-cuddler's womb!"

"I know." Before Sigrun could order him to get out, he sprinted out of the courtyard.

'Wait! Thordan! I didn't mean it! Come back!" came Sigrun's voice, but Thordan decided not to comply. Not this time.

He buried himself in his bed, and sobbed himself to sleep.

* * *

Dagbert watched as King Thordan lay prone on his bed, snoring loghtly. He had stayed ]invisibly Veiled in his room throughout the entire evening, having just enough time to deliver his letter and the Amplifier atop Thordan's desk before he barged right into the room.

His eyes were still wet from all that weeping from his conversation with Sigrun - the same ottermaid which he Pressured to forget Thordan's little display of magic. She was quite close to seeing past his disguises - the mole would have to remember to make a better Veil next time.

The air suddenly shifted apart, and Arbert walked it, with enough timing to adjust his pawsteps so that the sleeping otter hears nothing. Or it was some Conjuration that hid sound.

"We are headed for a truce of sorts." The warrior mole was younger than his brother by almost eighteen seasons - enough time to fill right into the areas of personalities that Dagbert never seemed to possess.

"Truce?"

"Emetselk has promised us some concessions. We are in the Levinshard, or the Lightningshard. Two names, one place. You should probably do the talking."

"Agreed." The head of an otter perked out from the Pathway Arbert made. Emetselk, naturally. He looked quite like Old King Thordan, but he was somehow taller, and more handsome than he was - later modifications to his body. "Arbert here does not even have the slightest grasp on rhetoric, not to mention his complete inability to speak coherently after I mentioned his love life."

"Can you leave that for later?" Dagbert crossed his paws.

"Well… I did mention Rebecca once, and he decided to ask too many questions."

Emetselk coughed softly, compelling that the brothers pay him attention. "Anyways, you are invited to walk within the grounds of the Aetherical Research Facility! Of course, any damages you create are your legal responsibility, and do expect that you will be asked to pay us back!"

Arbert chuckled a bit at the joke, leading to a confused stare from Dagbert. "I do not recall that your sense of humour could be so crude."

Arbert sniggered. "As I recall, you made the same joke when Slyte entered Floret."

"Enough talk - for now." The otter gestured the moles to walk through the Pathway, which they did. Before he closed it, the revived Warder moved up to Thordan's slumbering form, and kissed him gently on the cheek.

'That's just for luck," the elder Thordan whispered. "He'll need loads of it for the trials to come."

* * *

**A/N: Another Thordan-focused chapter. I originally wanted to quit before the last segment, but Dagbert roped me back in. And no, he did not stuff me in a box.**

**The next chapter may or may not feature Thordan at all, so I hope that would be OK with all of you.**

**Chapter 43 (**_**Blind to the Dark**_**) will be up on 29/30 January. Oh, and happy birthday, me.**


	43. Blind to the Dark

**Thank you, everyone, for reviewing within 72 hours after the update!**

**Abe: Everyone hates Becker, they do. But I have to disagree that Godred deserved to die - he's not the worst of the bunch. In any case, Becker's mind had been ruined by all that had happened to him. And spreading rumours isn't exactly an uncommon tactic back in the day. Sigrun... *facepalms* Why? I mean, she probably doesn't know what happened to him, but... ah well. Arn's coming! Maybe. A sliver of a chance, but a chance nonetheless...**

**Keva: I didn't expect Becker cuffing Thordan too. In the early drafts, anyway. I hope everyone would like Becker more once some other prequel is released, but we'll see. Or even a sequel, perhaps? Assuming Becker lives, of course.**

**Seb: Becker... yeah. A tragedy of errors, it seems. And I assure you that Becker has suffered quite enough... or not. There's still a few chapters. Alfyn and Egil! I've missed them as well. I don't want to push them into side characters... but it seems that I've succeeded in making them relevant. Plot armour? What is it? Never heard of it. ;) Poor Thordan.**

**Grey: Reflection is very important in a sprawling fic. Call-backs is just as critical as foreshadowing. Sigrun isn't really sympathetic here... let's hope she apologises! Becker not being a good uncle is quite the plot point. One day, you'll see him and Sigurd talking. One day... Dagbert's visions maybe I'll touch upon them in Prequel 2. Or even the remaster... and now, the Lightningshard!**

* * *

**Blind to the Dark**

* * *

**VARGO, KINGDOM OF OTHARN, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA**

"I am glad to receive you," Niels said quietly as Lord Valdemar watched. 'You may rise."

Lorelei's elder son stopped kneeling before the king while Valdemar failed to betray his emotions. The little upstart was more emotional, as if he was overwhelmed by emotions. Skywards. All the same they were, not being able to shut their mouths when silence is needed.

Corrado Truetide had sworn his traditional oath of loyalty, but oaths can be broken. Lord Canute had been asked to swear fealty to King Thordan all those seasons ago, in exchange for nothing but empty assurances. Of course, Thordan betrayed him at the first opportunity, so there was that. They could have torn each other apart if not for the intercession of Valdemar himself and Erlend Swalestrom - the otter was likeable enough to collaborate with for a few months, despite being married to _her_.

"So," Niels rubbed his paws. "About the Ilsadian question." The king nodded at Valdemar.

"Your mother was quite insistent about letting you rule the entirety of the Ilsadian realm in the name of the king." Valdemar had been named Royal Vicar in place of Niels himself, probably a measure to placate him and to perhaps intimidate Lorelei. Or he could have been manipulating the whole of Parma since the day he was named Royal Vicar, moving the pieces on both sides of the chessboard. Valdemar will not be surprised if it was suddenly revealed that he was King Thordan's assassin, or the one behind Guido's conniving actions since the day he began his rule. It is fortunate that he was meek - or that could also be an act.

"However," Valdemar continued. "We have not heard your thoughts on this matter yet." In a way, he had spoken the truth and nothing but the truth. Just not the whole truth. "Would you kindly state them?"

"My thoughts?" Corrado mused to himself as he rubbed his chin. "I'm not sure about the whole thing, to be honest with you." He would of course be honest. Niels had raised him, and he saw him as his father more than he did his biological one, or Erlend for that matter.

"How so?"

"Well, I have enough work to do." The other otter sighed. "Do you know how hard it is to rule a realm in your own name, another in your son's, and take care of your family?"

"Well I do." Valdemar lifted up a finger. "Governing my lordship is hard enough, especially when my father left more ruin than blessings."

"From what I have heard from you, you seem to do a shoddy job of parenting." Corrado huffed. "Your children are arguing like the Swalestroms, and at least Lord Gavin had the excuse of being dead to do nothing!"

"You-" Valdemar growled until Niels lifted up a claw.

"No need for aggression now, Corradino." The diminutive name was usually used to indicate the other Corrado's name, but Niels had called him just that. This was probably why Corrado the father calls Corrado the son that as well - old habits die hard, Valdemar supposed. "I am amazed at your good parenting, young Corrado, and to be honest, I would like to meet your children someday. Perhaps after my Parman coronation." He shook his head, with the aim of clearing it, though Valdemar would not really know if he can really do it. "But back to official business." He paused for a while. "So you don't really want the job, right?"

"Correct." Corrado nodded. "Oh, does Mother want it alright. But I am very happy where I am. Thank you for your consideration."

"Well, Queen Lorelei did nag His Majesty for an entire week," somebeast said, and Valdemar realised with horror that it was himself.

Corrado smiled. "That does sound like my mother."

Before Valdemar could probe a bit more to the interesting family dynamics of House Skyward, Niels gestured Corrado to leave, which he did after bowing.

"Nice otter, is he not?" Niels smiled ever so slightly at his nephew.

"Better than his mother, I suppose." Valdemar rolled his eyes. "She expects everybeast to bow to her all too often, I believe. She has yet to know that pride comes before a fall."

"I lived with her for most of my life, and I would not have survived if not for a certain Dagbert's advice." Seeing Valdemar's confusion, he quickly added, "Change from within what cannot be changed from outside. Submission is a terrible weapon to behold if it is wielded well."

"Just like any other weapon." Valdemar huffed.

"Well, this one you should have enough time to master. I mean, Corrado did so, and he's a better vassal than his mother. Take your leave - the night comes, and both of us are getting more tired by the minute."

Valdemar nodded, then walked out of the doorway. To change from within… that would indeed be a good idea. Perhaps this is why Niels prefers Corrado to him. He knows what to do. The voices in his head affirmed this.

Perhaps this is why little Thordan kept his life while Valdemar's father had him in his mercy, despite Valdemar urging the young otter to be terminated as soon as possible.

Perhaps, in due time, Corrado will be swayed away from his mother's vile grip, and serve Parma in his own fashion.

Of course, as a loyal son of Parma, Valdemar would be there to help him along.

* * *

**FLORET, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD**

"And here comes the Crestworths." King Gideon smiled at Bellamy as the two otters entered one after the other.

King Gideon had been her father's accomplice in searching for a husband for the ottermaid, all while ignoring her losses. All three of her brothers were dead, and her mother followed them to the grave, no doubt happy to be reunited with them again.

But Bellamy was still alive, and still a slave to her duty.

Having called a tournament gave her room. Twelve suitors would fight for her paw, competing against one another on subjects that she so wished. After all, that is the best way to test for the strength of a bloodline. In normal circumstances, seven will come from Southsward itself, three from neighbouring holts, one from Triel and one from Parma. The dearth in eligible Southard otters caused these regulations to be laxened this time, which was not the most fortunate thing to happen for Bellamy. The last thing she wanted was to be bound to a foreigner for the rest of her life.

Twelve boars and a maiden were not enough to constitute a tournament. After all, the whole point of it was that the maid can refuse to marry whoever her parents wanted her to. She would need a champion to defend her rights.

If the champion wins a tournament, then another will be held. Once the champion has seen victory five times, then the maid will then have no obligation to marry anyone against their will.

Five times. Five whole moths of anxiety - at best. But Bellamy knew who to call up. After all, her brother had left detailed instructions.

Bellamy seldom saw eye to eye with her brother - that much was clear. But she never doubted that her brother would gladly lay down his life for her, and in a way he did.

The brothers bowed to the king, and a few gestures were made. Sverker never once looked at her, while Harald exhibited a habit of staring at Bellamy, making Alfyn Stalwart seem polite in comparison. Harald Crestworth was the sort of beast who tries his best to turn away all that could ever like him, then complain about it. Sverker seemed like a louse in comparison. He may look stoic, but Bellamy just knew that almost quivering in nervousness or fear.

More words were exchanged, but Bellamy wasn't listening. All about how good guests they will be, how good a husband one of them might be and all that. King Gideon seemed interested at first, but it did not take long for his patience to yield. The Parmans took the hint, and they saw fit to retire to their rooms.

"What do you think of them, Bellamy?" The squirrelking turned his head. Bellamy already had two loving parents, but Gideon was a second father to her and her siblings. He was what Erlend could, and should have been.

"One's too boring, the other one's too interesting to do his duty." Bellamy scoffed. "Domans seldom know moderation, and most of those who do know not expression."

"Domans. Heh." The squirrel coughed, apparently choking on his wine a bit, but in a while he was back to normal. "Stuck-up reserved folk. They make better servants and friends than spouses, I see."

"That's true." Bellamy sighed. She was not in the mood for further conversation.

"Seriously. You could have spared yourself a lot of trouble if you went for the Trielian." The squirrelking shook his head. "Alfyn Stalwart is a brave creature."

"Bravery isn't the only thing a maid looks for in a husband." Bellamy countered. "Besides, when had Lord Alfyn showed that he could be responsible for anything?"

"Beasts change, Bells." The squirrelking shook his head. "Often for the better."

"This is not necessarily the case." Bellamy smiled. It was not a genuine smile, but Bellamy needed every smile she can afford to produce.

"Oh yes." The king's smile was not fake, but was not one of mirth. It was summoned from the deepest curiosity of his heart. "Your champion. I have a feeling that he would gladly fight for you - too gladly, in fact."

"He will." Bellamy's smile shifted to a genuine one. _They both will._

* * *

**LEAMONDE, KINGDOM OF VALNAIN**

A king would be chosen soon.

Unlike those elections of Parma, which King Thordan had carefully set up rules (that, admittedly, favoured his own family), everyone with a title of 'lord' or higher gets a say in who the next king would be.

This, of course, caused squabbling beyond all measure.

Lord Maurice of Graille could do nothing as the congregation slipped further into chaos. All was well in the beginning, with Renart admitting that there will be no way for him to be crowned after the loss of Arn's Southpaws. Not that Valnain will not desire a vermin king - if a rat, weasel or any other fox happened to be born well, the electors would have gladly chosen him, or perhaps even _her _if the situation called for it. But Renart was… Renart. Renart chose to be Renart, and other beasts saw Renart like Renart.

Thus, the pair decided to allow Maurice to submit his candidacy. The otter knew for a start that he was not cut out for the duties of kingship, but that did not matter. He was good at delegating.

Besides, competence has no place in a ruler's accession - apparently bloodline and popularity amongst the right people can do that for you. That, unless if you live in a city. It's still about popularity, but the crass masses will flock to anyone who spreads the right idea, be it practical or not.

"Would there be any more beasts who would declare their candidacy?" The mouse speaker shouted. Maurice looked at Renart, who gave him a smug smirk in return.

"There is one! There is another!" A beast shouted from the opposite side of the doorway, which an otter swiftly walked through, escorted by a train of followers. Renart gasped aloud, while Maurice suppressed his own reaction.

Guido Aldabreschi was always fond of surprise entrances, and this time he was accompanied by a few important personages.

"I nominate Raimon, Captal of Aldernan!" The mouse hollered. _This one hadn't even made peace with the Parmans yet! How could he be here?_

"For what do you do this?" Renart stood up.

"For Valnain, of course!" The Captal shouted aloud. They say that he had just married to Avelyn Stalwart of Arnet, and it showed on his face. "What I do, I do for Valnain."

"And how would we know that?" Renart countered. "You give off the impression that all you did was to get under Parman nerves. And you as well, Ilsadian!" He pointed at the mouse. "Where you go, you only bring Parman attention and ruin to all the lands you had ever set footpaws on!"

"Nonsense!" Guido shouted. "Yes, where I go, Parma follows, but this is the nature of their 'High Kingdom'. To put all others under it. I know Niels well. He is a scholar and a goodbeast, and that means he is as unsuitable a king as possible. Now is the best and only time to make Valnain a kingdom again!"

"Valnain is always a kingdom, fool of a mouse!" Renart screamed. "Old King Thordan could have taken the throne for himself at any time. Why did he not? Simply because he knew that staying here does more harm than good."

"What do you mean by that?" Raimon asked.

"Thordan could have squashed this realm and all of it to dust. Could have. But he did not." Renart said calmly. More accurately, he said this as calmly as he could since he was still agitated. But Maurice could spare the details.

"And we expect to believe your opinion that he was so benevolent that he left this kingdom to its own devices, while exacting mountain after mountain of gold from your kingdom?" Guido snarled at the fox. "I doubt your ability to think straight, vermin."

"I doubt your ability to think at all, woodlander! You can't be free as corpses-"

"Can everyone just think with their heads for a second?" Everybeast turned to look at Maurice, whose voice dwarfed all else for a single moment. "You, all of you are but children squabbling about toys. This throne is no child's plaything, I can tell you that!"

The otter turned to Lord Guido, who flinched. "You didn't defy the full might of King Thordan just to throw a temper tantrum in front of the entire nobility of Valnain!" Renart was his next target. "And you! Yes, fox. Could you have stopped antagonising your peers for a single week? Or even a month?"

Maurice collapsed into his chair. "Valnain can wait for her king. In the meantime, we should rest, and think our way out of this deadlock."

A tense silence followed until Captal Raimon nodded.

"You speak sensibly, Lord Maurice. Heads need to cool. In the meantime, we should withdraw to our quarters." With a gesture of his paw, he retreated from the chamber, alongside all of his attendants. Even the hardheaded Guido had no choice but to follow them.

"That went pretty well, I think." Renart smiled.

* * *

**DALAGAB, THE LIGHTNINGSHARD**

Arbert could say that he had seen a lot of things before.

He had seen woodlanders and vermin work in mysterious ways, calling wind and rain from corners far, or willing a beast to breathe their last.

He had seen worlds aplenty, with all that he knew overturned as if one was false and the other true. He had seen much more than he bargained for, and did things that he did not know were even possible.

But this was new. Wholly new. The Lightningshard was a place of wonders, after all. Nobeast could ever deny that. _Could the Source be so advanced after a few centuries?_

"I see that you two would like to see more around here," Emetselk stopped in a room with a few chairs a table full of drinks, and a steel statue of some kind of monster with claws outstretched. "Wine? Beer? Muir cider?"

"We would much rather stay sober, thank you very much." Dagbert said, right when Arbert reached for a glass of cider.

"After you had seen what I had seen, you would need a drink too, brother." Arbert said as he guzzled down his beverage.

"Hersent, want a drink?" Emetselk smiled at the vixen. Dagbert said that the otter was too friendly with vermin, especially females, but here Emetselk exhibited a surprising display of restraint. Aside from the beverages, of course.

"I don't think I should. I won't risk it." The vixen was too young to ingest strong drink anyways.

"Ah well." The otter turned to the moles. "You two are called here for a reason. A very good reason. To share a bit of information. Arbert, what had you seen in Loamhedge? You mentioned your lover -" Arbert coughed, and the otter took the hint.

"I saw three visions, as usual. The first is Lord Garrion announcing to me that Emetselk here had saved the world, killing himself in the process."

"That one's void. Garrion is dead. The Trielians got him." Dagbert solemnly said, wasting no words unlike Emetselk or his previous self.

"Then we don't have to worry about dying." Emetselk nodded. "Continue."

"The second is that I died in some random battle and everyone forgot that me and Dagbert existed for the latest seasons, while the third is me slaying a battle-mad Thordan Swalestrom and Dagbert getting demolished by your Ward."

"Charming." Emetselk moved into a slouching position. "Hersent."

"Ah yes. I got my three questions answered. "Properties of Bonding, the fact that any woodlander-vermin pair can get questions answered and see visions in Loamhedge and the imminent appearance of a Taggerung."

"Imminent Taggerung?" Arbert almost spat out his drink. "But, but that would mean-"

"The Juska, perhaps?" Emetselk was awfully docile. "We would never know. But in the meantime, we should move on to more important things."

"Like what?" It was finally Dagbert's time to speak? "You popping worlds like balloons?"

"Precisely. But we are perfectly willing to put our world-hopping and world-popping schemes on hold indefinitely, for a simple price."

"Name it."

"Saving Thordan Swalestrom from any fate your king will inflict on him."

* * *

**A/N: This took me five weeks. Five weeks, which I got slammed with writer's block again and again and again. I even had to delay my schedule to see it uploaded at all.**

**But anyway, I hope you all like this one. And the cliffhanger. Especially that.**

**Chapter 44 (Unspoken) will be up on 12/13 February.**


	44. Unspoken

**Review Responses:**

**One-Eye: That could be very bad indeed... read TBBU and find out how bad!**

**Abe: Ironic, is it? The only beasts capable of being good parents do not have children of their own. Thordan, Sigrun, Niels... Lorcan's a pretty big excpetion. Valdemar? A villain? You will have to see soon... Tournaments are a Jade thing, and I hope I could write it well. The Waycaster brothers? Champions? Haha! They shouldn't even _attempt_ to meddle with politics! Renart being a degenerate again. I mean, Grey said that mine was the third best Renart he had ever read, so it can't be that bad. But then, he did only read three Renart stories... Maurice - yep. Based him on a kind man with the same name. Also a calm guy. Emetselk being nonchalant is intentional, as his Sixclaw appearance would suggest. Everybeast in that fic is pretty chill. A happy ending? In the Jade TeaLeaf universe? You are a very amusing person, Abe!**

**Keva: From within... what exactly is Dagbert implying to Niels? The duels will be nice to read, I shall say. Hopefully. and further future talks! One out of three down, at least. Could any of the two come true?**

* * *

**Unspoken**

* * *

**DALAGAB, THE LIGHTNINGSHARD**

After the Watershard and the shrews, Igeyorhm could say that she (the days of _he_ were long gone) enjoyed herself. Admittedly, she had seen much and learned much, including more of Conjuration, but the taste of battle lingered still. The white shrew was tough, despite what her companion would say.

"So you're telling me that this Halmarut's my father?" the marten watched Fandaniel moan about his parental issues once again.

"If you happened to be Sigurd Swalestrom, then yes." The hare nodded, a paw on his head. "My memories are filling up slower than usual, which makes nothing certain."

"Well, this i_s_ certain." Emmeroloth walked out of one of his contrived shadows. "I wasn't expecting a massive parental review like at the end of those stories, so I could truthfully say that I am quite relieved."

"You're ruining sappy moments again, fox." Igeyorhm tapped a footpaw repeatedly. "You have a talent in ruining the most intricate of things. As all vermin do, actually."

"We're vermin now, Iggie." Fandaniel rolled his eyes.

A knife or five manifested in the marten's paw. "Do not use that nickname. Ever. Or I might simply gut you again and again and again. Without even touching a knife. You'll just die."

Halmarut rubbed his chin. "Then live again? To be completely honest with all of you, having the capacity to be reincarnated devalues the prospects of living itself. What meaning is there to life if we live after we die?"

"Life has meaning, Father!" Fandaniel decided to be noisy again - Igeyorhm hated it when that happens. 'You just need time to find it."

"I know that!" Stretching a paw forward, a spear sprung out of the Rift and into the hare's paw. "I have this spear. I remember it, but the one that I hold in my paw is a mere replica. But I recall not what came before I received the original."

"You should have hints! Or are you too much of a hare to remember the important stuff?" Igeyorhm had no connection at all with her daggers, and she was better off without. Halmarut had Gungnir while Fandaniel had Balmung - blast these ex-Swalestroms and their barbaric naming of weapons!

"Quiet, you!" The hare shouted. "I remember an ottermaid. Somebeast before…"

"Great." Emmeroloth the black fox spoke. "Now you've managed to limit your search down to half of the lutrine population." He shook his head. "Your memories had been tampered with."

"What?"

"For a good cause, of course." The fox sneered. "Don't want you to do anything that may get you killed ahead of schedule. Ask Emetselk for that later after your next mission. You have your secret identity and stuff. Expect to be called Gerlach for the time being."

Halmarut revealed a wan smile, spear returning to under his wiast.. "I like the name. May I ask that Fandaniel may accompany me on my next mission?"

The Thaumaturge shook his head. "I doubt that would be possible. You three are going in vastly different directions. One of you will get to return home, while one of you gets to roam far, far away into lands unknown."

"Stop playing games, fox." Fandaniel was stone-faced - the stoat's ideal form - but he possessed anger, hidden well it may be. "I know the rules, but I have yet to know the goal of this little amusement of yours."

"You have Emetselk to ask. One fox couldn't do everything by himself."

'You could provide us with a glimmer of insight on how things are supposed to work." Halmarut tucked his spear back to the dimension where it was usually kept. 'Things are not meant to be left unspoken."

"Or you could tell us everything!" Igeyorhm snapped. "Why are we alive? Why can you and I use magic? Why am I _vermin?_"

"I have a better question to ask you." The fox lifted up his staff. "Do you want to explode?"

Igeyorhm could have killed the fox like the vermin he was, but caution was better - as Somerled, she had learned that the hard way. "No."

'Then be a good martenmaid and go do what you're told - back to Triel with you, vermin or not." Emmeroloth turned towards the other Warders. "You two can spend some time together - about a month of vacation. Father-son bonding should be a morale boost." With a gesture of his paw, a Pathway was formed, and the fox stepped through. "I have a Taggerung to find. After all, is all not etched?"

* * *

**UZNAIR, DUCHY OF THAVNAIR, KINGDOM OF TRIEL**

"It is with my greatest pleasure that I welcome you, Your Grace." Lord Aymer Brackenridge smiled as he gestured Lorelei into the seating room. The atmosphere was warm enough, but Lorelei did not have to be a seer to scent tension, if not outright hostility.

"The pleasure is shared, Steward." The otterwife could not remember the last time she had traversed these halls alone. Erlend had accompanied her for the last ten or so times, and her children tagged along once or twice. They hated the land.

Lorelei had other opinions. After all, she was born here, while quite a lot of beasts watched (in what must have been another embarrassing scene for her mother). It is also here where he grew up, and where she had her first taste of ruling. It was a taste that she would rather forget, but she knew the importance of remembering that.

Her father's advice wasn't that good. 'Trust everybeast,' he said, 'and rely on nobeast.' That said, he did say that she needed to find her own method of managing a realm. But what would that be? All the beasts who she could have asked were either dead, away, or both.

She thought of Corrado, then Thordan. Both of them were dear to her, but she could not pass them knowledge she did not possess herself. Corrado had known what she had figured out from her surroundings, and she had little involvement in his raising. Thordan may had been a slow learner, but he had other pieces of knowledge that had been proved to be useless time after time again. _What ruler has need for herbs?_

"What brings you here?" Aymer scratched his head, while he plunged into a seat, instructing Lorelei to follow suit.

"I am here to inspect a few defences, and to restore control over _my _duchy." She smiled like a cat ready to fight a mouse. "Seeing that the Southards are retreating over the Greatrange as we speak, I have but the latter to accomplish."

"Well-"

"I know you rebelled against Duchess Marla in the past. Beaten by a lady was not one of your best memories, was it not?" Before Lord Aymer could respond, Lorelei silenced him with a finger. "If you cross me now, or ever, you would have to relive it all over again, until the day you die, anyway. And that day will not be long if you incur my wrath."

Aymer stammered once, then twice, until he fell silent to clear the way for a deep breath. "I understand. I will obey your will as much as long as you do not forget your obligations to your post."

This was as good as total submission. "Very well. Allow me to relieve you of your duties temporarily. Take a vacation of sorts."

"Yes, Your Grace." Aymer said as he quickly departed the room. Technically, Lorelei was a queen, but Triel only had two kings at least, and they tended to be mice. A ducal title suited her better, at least for now.

Lorelei sat impassively until the lord left, after which she shifted into a more comfortable posture. Beckoning a servant to give her a tankard of ale, she thought of what was to come.

Corrado had been doing well within Niels's inner circle, and even though he had declined to notify her of his every move, that would mean that he is completely safe or in the greatest danger. His track record would suggest the former.

Her other boy was another story. The last she had heard of him was when her former brother-in-law sent a gloating letter. She would get Thordan out of Southsward. Without restarting a dying war.

But how? What could she do?

She had to keep a clear head, that was clear. Lorelei groaned. She always had trouble with this aspect of politicking.

"Patience is a virtue, you know," a playful voice poked out from the back of the room. An otter stepped out of a dark corridor, carrying with himself and he had nobody following him this time.

"It just happens to be a very boring virtue, Father. Or should I say Emetselk now?" Lorelei expressed nothing at the sight of Emetselk. She had memories of her father, both good and bad in their nature. But why bother expressing her thoughts? They would meet again, and again, and again. Until she dies, and is reborn again.

'I, as usual, have other plans." The taller otter smiled, being a beast of emotion rather than logic. "To act in the realm of normal beasts requires me to have an alternate identity. No longer King Thordan I am. That beast is dead."

Lorelei raised an eyebrow. "You don't look very dead to me. Not at all." She stood up. "I have lived with your mysteries and your games since I was able to walk and talk. Can't you be slightly less discreet just this once? Or perhaps you enjoy keeping your secrets?"

"Oh please, Lori!" Emetselk waved a paw in the air. He was incredibly fond of doing that. Lorelei knew by experience. "You have got to let me have my fun first."

"I'm uninterested in your games, Emetselk. Tell me what you're planning." Lorelei could only wish that Shadowbringers were here. There were moments where she had wanted to punch her father so hard that he went flying, though she had yet to test out her ideas. He would just come back from the dead regardless of what happens to his body.

"Ah. The gist of things is this." Emetselk took a deep breath. Then the monologue began. Oh, how Lorelei wished _that _part of her father was dead and buried.

"I have promised to cease my activities offworld, so expect me to remain here for the time being. Perhaps until mey second death, even. But in any case, here I go scheming again!"

"Charming."

"But I need another figure, a title. A cloak to hide my soul. Now, I would like to ask for a single thing. A little affirmation. A tiny nod."

"Just tell me what the Hellgates you plan to do! Is it that hard? Do you know what you're doing? The slightest idea? I've been tired of you and your amusements!"

"Calm down!" With a single push of his paw, Lorelei was seated down in her chair. "Now, I need to pose as your brother in the meantime."

"What?"

"By brother I meant half-brother, of course." Emetselk plopped down into another chair. "After all, King Thordan was a _massive_ pervert. What are the chances that he won't have a few illegitimate children bouncing about?"

"Well, if you - Thordan actually had a son, then he didn't have to fight for me being his heir and all that stuff, right?"

Thordan crossed his paws in a mock gesture of anger. "Shut up about the plot holes and nobody would notice! Sheesh. Not everybeast is as perceptive as you. But anyway, you're going to acknowledge me as your half-brother, and revert to calling me Thordan. One Thordan every generation, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah." Lorelei sighed. It shall seem that she won't be free of her father - or much younger half-sibling now - any time soon.

"One affirmation should suffice, Lorelei." For a brief moment, Thordan was in the realm of memories, but within the blink of an eye he was in the real world again. "You just have to proclaim that this 'Thordan Heavensward' is your brother. Sorry. Half-brother. Then you have to ask good old Niels to recognise me, and kablam! I'm back, baby!"

Lorelei nodded, being too surprised to do anything else. It shall seem that her father had indeed changed. Kings on average do not really know the future, but Emetselk - not anymore. But Thordan Heavensward spoke as if he was from a long-lost time or place.

"Good! Expect less of the supernatural, though. I'll be taking a short break from that stuff. Political maneuvering is so much more fun." With a bow - her father had never bowed to her before - a corridor of shadows sprung up, and he left without saying another word.

Lorelei sighed. The tankard she had ordered would be very welcome.

* * *

**FLORET, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD**

"You're back." Bellamy found herself with less of a smile than she would have liked. Her father had returned, but she was not glad. Not glad at all.

"I am." Lord Becker's arrival back into Floret was a muted affair. "It seems that we have won."

"You have indeed." Lorcan Stalwart quickly made himself comfortable in another armchair, right in between father and daughter.

The tall otterlord and his twin were the only ones of the Dravanians who were free, the former being an emissary, the latter in a tournament. Gustav Strandsor and his son were imprisoned comfortably in a cell befitting a noble, while Becker thought it well for Sigrid's daughter to occupy a guest room in the meantime. Falseking Thordan and his vermin companion got no such easy treatment, despite Becker's requests. King Gideon thought that treason has its price, though Thordan, not being the quickest of beasts, will be willing to pay it with his life.

"What did you call me for?" Becker asked.

"I see the tournament as of questionable importance, Father." Bellamy sighed.

"So you're marrying Alfyn?" Lorcan piped up. He had a habit of asking the wrong questions at the wrong times.

"No, nay, never." The ottermaid's response was quick, short and to the point. "He has few good qualities to speak of, Skipper of Arnet."

"He's quite handsome, if I must say so myself. And he has the bravery to match your father."

"If not even exceed me." Becker admitted. "He's the best choice that we have. Better than the Crestworths, anyway. I cancelled Sverker's betrothal to you for a reason and just look at Harald! He makes Alfyn look like Thordan, Fates afire!"

"That doesn't make Alfyn good!" Bellamy exclaimed, earning her stares from the two males. "He's not exactly responsible! He has a daughter roaming around Triel while we speak, and I doubt he's even acknowledged her! Besides, what kind of idea is to let a Trielian near me after we just won a war against them?"

"It's the best way to make a lasting peace." Lorcan was still stone-faced.

"And having brothers - twin brothers! The Stalwarts as Otterguard Skippers mean that Triel and Southsward will not fight each other for a generation! We need peace!"

"After a war you directly started! Southsward needs the next Skipper to keep a level head, and not go starting wars for fun and profit!"

"Don't-"

Becker was quickly shut up by Bellamy standing up. "I will obey you for now. If Lorcan here was unmarried, I would have married him, reluctantly or not. But Alfyn's just too much. I will play by my own rules! Galen and Dirk may be loyal to you, but they will fight for me, even if only one of them's the champion!"

Bellamy was too busy storming out of the room when she heard Lorcan say softly. "Then I must wish you the best of luck. You will have much need of it for the trials to come."

* * *

**ARNET, KINGDOM OF TRIEL**

King Garmund watched as the last of the Otterguards disembarked from the ships. Little Thordan Swalestrom had freed them from Southard imprisonment, and freed the mouseking from paying large ransoms.

Orience and Trielian dominion over Southsward were small prices to pay - and Garmund would have them back, one way or the other. It does not matter how many truces would have to be forsaken, how many treaties would have to be broken, or how many alliances would have to be repudiated. Least of all that mattered would be how many lives should be lost. Garmund himself was not afraid of death, so why should his beasts be any different?

No. There happened to be many other things to be afraid of.

"So what are you doing here, Your Radiance?" The mouseking would have cut the voice's owner clean in half if he had not greeted him properly. The second mouse in front of him was about as richly dressed as Garmund himself, though he did show reverence. And that was good enough, Garmund supposed.

"Inspecting our troops." The king's tone was as flat as a steel sword, and probably just as deadly. "The ones that will live to fight for Triel again."

"I see." Duke Randyll bowed again. The minister's movements seemed even slower than usual. "You seem worried, Your Radiance. Is it about the prophecies that the vermin make?"

"What do you know of them?" Garmund turned his head and for the first time acknowledged Randyll's presence. The duke was young for a son-in-law, but he has always had a talent for intrigue that Garmund never seemed to possess.

"No more than what the seers talk about. The Taggerung and all that."

"The Taggerung would come into Triel with Vulpuz's own, and the mouseking shall deliver the world to him with no blood shed." Garmund recited. "But Triel shall never fall until the chosen breaks the chains of vermin, and until he puts vermin into chains. Arnet shall never fall until the dead come back to life and smile in the face of chaos. Arnet shall never fall until the Foxwolf returns to Floret, and before the Scourge returns to Redwall."

Randyll was more puzzled than Garmund could afford to be. "It does not make sense, by any means. How could the dead return? The Foxwolf is long gone, and the Scourge probably is as well. Will Triel never fall?"

Garmund turned back to the sky. The sun was shining brightly, like suns were prone to do. But the rays will shine no more within minutes - over the mountains it was headed. "Triel has lived for four centuries. I will not see it fall to vermin filth."

Garmund smiled. "I shall see the Taggerung dead before my footpaws before Triel would be even close to fall."

Had the king decided to turn his head back, he would have seen the Randyll's Veil dissipate and a pine marten entering a Pathway.

But Garmund, like those who walked before him, was blind to the powers that silently blanket the world.

* * *

**A/N: Garmund Point of View, as promised. Jade characters seldom have these moments, and he's the only antagonist to have his! Oh, and did I say antagonist? I meant villain - as Jade intended him to be. I mean, he's a ***** and an *******, not to mention a pretty horrible beast to talk to. He is the sort of beast that makes Longclaw from Black and White likeable, and he makes Somerled the Village-Burner seem like a friendly puppy. Not that puppies exist in the Redwall-verse, but you get the idea.**

**Chapter 45 (_From the Ashes_) will be up on 26/27 February!**


	45. From the Ashes

**Review Responses:**

**Grey 43: Writer's block is a horrible thing indeed, and both of us had been bitten by it more than once. Valdemar being slimy? What a surprise? Let's hope that Niels has his own tricks up his sleeves. Sverker and Harald? Becker and Erlend Lite. In any normal circumstances, Bellamy's brothers **_would _**have been champions, but death can be a serious problem. Hey! It's Renart! What won't he do for a crown? And a vengeful Thordan? Is that really out of the question? We have to see soon...**

**Grey 44: Setting up the future is a crucial part of any ending, but I must have overdone it. Too much Kingdom Hearts for me, it seems. Thordan, or Emetselk, is certainly up to no good. Middle Thordan joins the game! I should have expanded on Becker and Lorcan, but they happen to be side characters. There's always the remaster for that. Garmund the bad guy! He's not _that _evil for now, but in the sequels... *shudders***

**Seb 43: Bellamy's marriage has been set up in TBBU, so expanding on it is a must in ARR. The Kingship of Valnain is a serious matter, and who gets his paws on the throne is a BIG question that might just shift the balance of power to one side or another, so they squabble. Politics is basically squabbling taken to a whole new level. And of course Old Thordan would use a simple term to indicate a horrific act.**

* * *

**From the Ashes**

* * *

**FLORET, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD**

Sigrun took a deep breath and started to walk up the stairs. She had orders to come from King Gideon, and she was sure that no guards would stop her.

Just why would the squirrelking have such a message for her to carry? Even if it happened to be a message of doom, he could just walk up and gloat about what was to happen. Sigrun suddenly thought that Thordan was quite clever for a king. _At least he's ending wars, not starting them._

Pawsteps. Sigrun heard pawsteps. Gentle pawsteps. She stopped, and waited for the other beast to arrive.

That other beast happened to be Bellamy Swalestrom.

"Good morning, cousin. Why would you be here?" The cousins never liked each other, but they were careful to let it bleed into open hatred, unlike the late Sigurd and Godred. That would not end up well.

"I am here by my own accord." Bellamy was terse to her, as always. "Now is a trying time for me, at least."

"Relationship advice, I take it?" Sigrun smiled, puzzling the other ottermaid. "You and Alfyn?"

Bellamy snorted - a most unladylike gesture. "I think not. If even Thordan is supportive of your match, you know that there would be something very wrong with it. His vermin is not inclined to help either. That degenerate will surely do more harm than good like all his of kind. Don't know why Thordan likes him."

"To be fair, I do not know as well." Sigrun sighed. "But I have learned to trust in him. What else did he tell you?"

"More about fulfilling his duty and more of his ramblings. If he's so interested in his duty, he should just leave the vermin alone and find some maid that knows how to put up with him." Bellamy crossed her paws. "As far as I know, you are the only one who knows how to do that."

"Well I do hope things improve for you soon." Sigrun was expressionless as she delivered her hollow blessings. "I have heard that you have two champions lined up, despite that being against the rules."

"One champion would be enough," Bellamy responded, "but he would not be the only one fighting for me." With that, the younger lady departed, leaving Sigrun alone in the starway.

The tower in which Thordan and Egil were held contained two rooms, identical in size and structure, one for each prisoner. The cells were connected with a staircase, and Thordan lived in the one below. King Gideon originally wanted to place them in cells befitting common vermin, but security was a more important issue than punishment.

Guards blocked her way into the first room. "I have come to see Lord Thordan Swalestrom," Sigrun calmly requested, careful not to mention anything related to her brother's kingship. "Here are the papers necessary."

The head guard, an otter as usual, quickly skimmed through the notice, then reached for his keys. "Wait here, my lady. Your notice only mentioned Thordan, so I need the vermin to be out of the room when you two share your family moment."

'I understand." Sigrun resorted to waiting while a subordinate otterguard went to get the weasel, a process which did not take long. In a few seconds, two of the guards escorted Egil upstairs, the weasel's face missing his trademark smile. The seriousness of his, not to mention Thordan's, situation was getting to him.

"You may enter." With a gesture, Sigrun was shown the way in. "You may stay for ten minutes. If you desire to leave earlier, we will get you out of the room."

"Sister." Thordan looked gaunt and tired, but managed to keep his smile.

"Thordan!" Sigrun exclaimed. "What- what have they done to you?"

"Nothing at all." The ex-king sighed. "I wish they would do something though. Summer is coming, and it is boiling in here sometimes. And sometimes I wish they could feed me anything but gruel, or maybe allow me to change my clothes. You might have noticed that heat and uncleanliness are not the best of bedfellows."

"I think I smell it already." Sigrun admitted. It was not customary for a king to be treated so poorly, but Southsward was out for blood. "King Gideon sent me here. He has a message."

'Oh, what is it? Apparently it isn't important enough for him to come here himself." Thordan chuckled, his face revealing a lack of mirth. "Maybe he's afraid of the smell. I mean, who would not be?"

"He doesn't like you."

"You don't say." A tense silence followed, until Thordan spoke again. "What message does he bring? I daresay that it would not be a good one."

"He asks you to resign your claim to Dravania."

"It's better than forcing me to do so, anyway. What happens if I choose not to do so?"

"Or he will 'send you on a one-way embassy to Hellgates'. That's his exact wording."

"I see." Thordan sighed again - he was fond of doing that. "At least he was polite about the whole thing."

"So are you accepting his offer or not?" Sigrun decided to ask.

"I will think about it. The Strandsors seemed to have fled our cause - they paid me a visit yesterday. I will accept their choice. They have just as much to lose than we do."

"You're letting our allies slip away?"

"Our cause is lost." Thordan said, head hung low in defeat. "If Mother tries to do something drastic, which she probably will, I fear the next time we meet, I would be in a casket."

"Thordan…" Sigrun did not know what to say.

"Everything will turn out fine for you, at least." Thordan managed to smile. "I don't think the Southards would let you marry, but at least you'll be alive."

Sigrun nodded. "I'm sorry, Thordan. I'm sorry for everything. I never respected you, and I didn't think well of Egil, and I-"

"Stop blaming yourself, sister." Thordan smiled. "May your heart and mind guide you forth."

"And yours as well, brother."

* * *

Lord Becker studied the young male in front of him. His daughter mentioned the name 'Galen', and a quick scour of the archives revealed the young captain in the Otterguard. The fact that there was only one Galen helped - it was still hard for Becker to stop imagining the Parman King every time somebeast referred to his nephew. One name for one beast is quite enough.

"So you're Galen, right?" Captain Snowpath was a strong beast, Becker gave him that. Nobeast could say otherwise. And his mind will not be too shabby either - the war would be lost if not for him and Ralos, and that Dirk otter too.

"Yes, sir." He seemed to defer to authority as well - a necessary for the chief subordinate of a king. He would do well.

"I have heard good things about you, Captain." Becker sighed as he sat down in his armchair. "In his letters to me, Garrion sung praises about you back in the war."

Galen nodded "He is a good master, and I assume that he would be a good son as well."

"The best." Becker closed his eyes, allowing a few good memories to flow back into his mind. When he hugged little Garrion for the first time. When he took the pup for his first swim. When he came of age and they celebrated. His eyes opened. "Thank you for taking good care of him for so long."

"But I failed, milord." Galen's voice shook for a bit. "I couldn't do anything to save him in the end. What's the point of fighting if you can't save the ones closest to you?'

Becker paused. _What indeed?_ Then he sighed in resignation. An Erlend Swlaestrom quote shall prove welcome. "To save the ones closest to others. We fight for those who we have lost, and those we can yet save, Captain Snowpath."

"I suppose this is true." The officer's voice nodded. "For those we can yet save. A friend once told me to take what we have and not to mourn for too long."

"Different wording, similar meaning." Becker nodded again. "Well then. You can leave now. I give you my blessing to fight for my daughter's paw. Fight for the one you love."

"Thank you for everything, sir." Galen was kind enough to close the door behind him.

Becker turned to his desk, and swiftly opened a drawer. A few letters were scrambled out with frantic paws, and all of them had the seal of Erlend on them. His brother's seal.

Some of them were addressed to his friends, some were addressed to family, and one of then was for him. Taking a deep breath, he opened the letter.

_I do have to wonder what Erlend was fighting for._

* * *

It was late when Thordan received the letter from the paws of a guard, who were kind enough to light a candle for him at this late hour.

Affixed to the envelope was a note from Lord Becker, which Thordan did not even pay attention to. It only gave a little context to why his deceased father was still sending letters to him. Namely, Becker kept them a secret and delayed giving him that letter for too long until his conscience decided to act up.

Ripping the deal open, Thordan's eyes squinted at the many words.

_Dear Thordan,_

_It pains me that this is the reason I decide to write to you, but you may have learned that your brother has left his world doing his duty. Just know that I am very proud of you two, you loved each other like brothers should, and I know that you two would never put each other's children in a conflict such as this one. I know our family had unique circumstances, so as to simply put it. _

_And I was always worried how you too would treat each other because of it, as old examples painted a gruesome picture of jealousy and betrayal. But your brother loved you to death, he would never let anything happen to you, and would happily die in your stead. You were a great brother to him, and I think you still are to your sister. You never looked down upon them as lesser, like other 'trueborns' have been known to do. On the contrary, you always looked up to them for guidance, and to be like them. And they always loved and doted on their baby brother._

_Now, I know that you and I have spent far too little time together. And should've taken you around with me, teach you how to be a man. For this I take full responsibility. But know this, I am still proud of you. You are the kindest and most empathetic beast I know of, and while I didn't understand why you hugged me, now I do back on the ship. I should've appreciated every hug you ever gave me. I wish you and your sister were here, I'd hug you both. But then, I also wish your brother and your stepmother were here to hug as well. We can't have everything. __But now, in what may be the last time I correspond with you. I'll be the most fatherly I've ever been, and should've been. I wish to give you some final pieces of advice._

_Learn the arts of the sword or mace, or even the spear. I know they never truly interested you, but I want it only for your own good. We have many enemies, Thordan, and Becker is on the tame end of things, but you already knew that was the case. I want you prepared and ready, for when another attack inevitably happens. Trust me, wars never truly end. I only want this cause I want you to be safe and self reliant. I know, because of your gentle heart, you are actually better-suited for a weapon than most beasts. As you are not quick to anger, and more importantly, not out for the blood of others._

_I also know that you never found maids appealing, and I heard those rumors of you and old Skuli's son. Still, I know they are false. Rumors are always spread, there is no doubt about that. But whenever someone blames you or hates you, look inside their souls, see what kind of beasts they are, then you'll know that you should not concern yourself with their opinion. __Despite this, you still have a duty, which you have always accepted without any unpleasantness, and which I am happy for. With your brother dead, it is of great importance you continue our line, which requires you to be with a maid and sire pups. Which you of course know. I know this is something that disinterests you, but I'm sure with a concentrated effort, you can be a pleasing husband. And I'm very sure you'll be a great father, to grandchildren I fear I may never meet. You already have enough love in your heart._

_As for the hard part, the wife. It's important to know, different sows have different needs. Some are more sensual and desire handsome boars, while others are like you and can never find interest. The most important thing you can do, is address their needs, and to be there for them. Be attentive, which should be easy for you. __While I know that my innate passion for your mother was not as great as others, I still put in effort for her. And she's one of the most loyal beasts to me, absolutely enraptured. Let's just say, I actually had fun with her, too keep it simply. Please t__ell your mother I found her company pleasant. Sigrid was always my first love, but I had grown affection for your mother as well. She was always loyal, and could be the gentlest of beasts on occasion. I know she loves you fiercely, strict she might be.__ So who knows, maybe you'll end up liking your wife if you actually spend time with her. But nonetheless, work to be good loyal friends, pick a loyal maid, one who'll be a good mother. Be the father I should have been. I wish however your relations turn out, they turn out well._

_Now. I know you are easy on vermin, and you are very kind and open to most beasts in general. Your grandfather was very similar to you, actually, and he was a great king, as well as friend and father. He is the envy of all beasts to live after him. __But as you love vermin and woodlander equally, do not hesitate to doubt and distrust them as well. Vermin have a bad reputation for a reason, and so, you should also be wary of them. Still, I am no fool. I've been around woodlanders, and I know they're untrustworthy back stabbers as well. So, it's always safe to be cautious and to never trust any beast too much._

_Watch your sister for me, always protect her and be there for her. She is older than you, and had always felt protective of you, you being a babe compared to her. But still, it's natural for males to be protective of females (and vice versa as well), and you are still her brother. I trust you to watch after her, and find a strong male who'll do the same. Be very selective with whom she marries, as I may not be there, and I still worry for her. But still, she is an individual (obviously). Take her heart into account. She may be stoic, but she still has emotions. I remember comforting her before. And most importantly. Remember any boar who will marry her is the most blessed boar in history. Make sure the lucky one knows that._

_When you were born, you were very small, and had a saddening cough. Your mother and I thought you wouldn't make it, and we tried to accept it and prepare for it. But it always ate at our hearts the thought of our babe dying. And I guess I must say, I'm very proud you're alive, despite expectations, and we are rightfully overjoyed. Thank you for loving me, despite my shortcomings. And for making a big meeting with me, just to hug me and show your love to me. I'm not sure any beast deserves such treatment, and I thank you for it. Make sure your sister knows I'm proud of her as well._

_If I ever made you feel like a secondary child, I am sorry. Yes, I always connected more with your brother and sister, but deep down, my love for you was all the same. But this is no excuse. I should've tried my best to take you with me wherever I went, to be close to me. I see that now. I hope this letter accounts for lost time. __Do try your best to toughen up. You'll need it in battles to come. I know you're capable. I love you, my son. And when I pass, your brother and I shall watch over you and your sister from afar._

_Love,_

_Erlend_

Thordan took a deep breath. It was perhaps too late for this letter to be of use, but his father will surely be embarrassed by his defeat. Kaldos, ever his father's favourite abode, was lost, perhaps forever. And he had dragged Sigrun into this mess called Floret. He had almost forgotten the ever significant chance of him and Egil dying, but that seemed to heap on even more trouble. If only some remnant of his father was here with him!

Holding back tears, he blew out the candle and hoped for a dreamless sleep.

* * *

**A/N: Early update!**

**Thank you, Abrahem for the contents of the letter. I didn't really need to edit it so much, so that's a bonus.**

**One might realise that Sigrun and Thordan's situation might seem incredibly similar to a Shakespeare play set in Vienna, but I digress. Better not play a game of 'spot the reference' with you guys.**

**Chapter 46 (_Four-Sided Circle) _will be up on 19/20 February.**


	46. Four-Sided Circle

**Responses:**

**Abe 44: Lorelei was Duchess of Thavnair since before the story began. just saying. Becker and Bellamy probably has the most loving father-daughter relationship in the series (for now) - Thordan and Lorelei would have to rank lower. If you know where Old Thordan had been, you need not be surprised by his usage of modern lingo. Hopefully the audience could better understand the characters as well.**

**Abe 45: Sigrun and Bellamy. Hopefully I chose the right moment to express their opinions of each other - maybe again in the remaster? Thordan's (and also your) letter had the opposite effect on the poor kid - I mean, he grew up with Lorelei, who isn't the most sincere of beasts. The boy's used to mixed messages. What would happen to Thordan once he's freed? That's a good question that sadly will not be answered in this chapter...**

**And now, let the tourney commence!**

* * *

**Four-Sided Circle**

* * *

**FLORET, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD**

"From the Kingdom of Parma we have the Crestworth brothers, Sverker and Harald." The crowd cheered as the two otters' names were being called, while Alfyn stood within the tunnels.

This tournament was special for more than one reason. For one, none of the sort was ever held within Southsward before - Triel had more than its share, while tournaments became rare in Parma after King Thordan's modification to the rules. It was also worth noting that more than two foreigners were participating - a big portion of Southsward's nobility lay dead after the war, including many young otters. Placeholders had to be found from elsewhere.

"From our native Southsward we have Haakon Strandsor!" The crowd's reaction was less delightful, but they cheered just the same. The hedgehog announcer had conveniently omitted that Haakon and his family fought _against _Southsward in the war about a month ago, while the otterlord himself would have taken grave offence for his seat being called part of Southsward.

"Galen Snowpath, also from Southsward!" The crowd had never cheered louder, Alfyn thought, and how his ears buzzed reflected this. This Galen was new. Lorcan said that he and a certain Dirk Tillwaters helped Southsward push back against Triel, and it wasn't hard to see how. Snowpath was tall (though shorter than Alfyn himself, of course), handsome (more so than Alfyn this time) and charismatic. Of all the suitors, he was so far the first to actually respond to the crowd, clapping his paws, earning himself a few squeals from more than a few ottermaids.

"And from the Kingdom of Triel, we have Alfyn Stalwart." The crowd was silent as Alfyn made his modest entrance. Why would they cheer when they had suffered under his paws, and those of his nation? Still, there was no cause for discouragement. He had lost nothing important.

"And finally, the brave fighter who wields his blade for Lady Bellamy is Dirk Tillwaters!" Like his friend Galen, Dirk was tall and fit, though his face was scarred by his many duties as a soldier. His mannerisms were crude, but Alfyn knew better than to underestimate any foe, Southard or not otherwise. The war taught him that.

"The tournament would begin with archery, followed by swimming and javelin throws, and it will end with paw-to-paw combat!" The announcer should have listed the combatant's names first, but this mistake was small in scale. "Points will be added as follows! Twenty points for hitting the target, an additional fifteen points for hitting the inner rings, and an additional twenty for getting an arrow in the centre…"

The hedgehog talked on and on as Alfyn decided to study his opponents. Harald Crestworth seemed boisterous, but he was nothing, while his brother should not have been here at all. Still, better to keep an eye on them.

The Southards were mostly no different, with some names Alfyn had literally never heard of until the announcements. Galen and Dirk were ones to watch out, but anybeast could clinch a victory from another's paws.

Which made Alfyn more determined to win.

Not that he loved Bellamy, of course. She was a beautiful girl and all, but she would expect much of him - too much. Still, he had a kingdom to support, and a brother as well. Perhaps Alfyn was not Bellamy's type because he put duty over his heart. Perhaps. He did not know.

"Now then, let the competition begin!" Alfyn stood up straight as he heard the hedgehog announcer's voice. "May the winner have a happy marriage!"

* * *

Sverker smirked at Harald as he looked angry enough to snap his bow in half. Another miss. Three shots his brother had let loose, and one hit the mark, barely clipping the side of the target.

Prancing around enraged was one of Harald's pastimes. Sverker could only hope that he doesn't turn his anger towards Meraholmer - the peace negotiations are not going to end in an eternal calm, even if Harald doesn't get the island lordship from King Thordan's control.

It was not looking good for Sverker as well. Galen had effortlessly put three arrows within the inner ring, and Alfyn Stalwart followed suit. But the highlight was on Dirk, who secured a shot to the bulls-eye.

Sverker himself was gestured forth, as the last of the thirteen. Normally, the champion would have gone last, but Sverker himself let Dirk go before him. The fact that Harald would have to wait until the second last place helped.

"And for the last archer, Sverker Crestworth!" The hedgehog was too lively for Sverker's tastes, but the otterlord stepped forward as he should. Picking up the bow, Sverker carefully affixed the arrow, only to fumble and drop it.

He could hear Harald smirk.

The otterlord hastily picked it up, his face burning with shame. With even more haste, he lined up the shot, and let loose - only for the arrow to soar above the target.

The otter took a very deep breath, then grabbed another arrow. He closed his eyes, and let the shaft fly, closing both eyes as it left the bow. A 'thunk' was needed to tell him that it had hit its mark from his mere luck. He opened his eyes, and sighed in relief. It had just barely clipped the outer ring.

_What would Father do? No. What would _Niels _do?_

Within a mere second, he knew the answer to his own question. He would be calm, as cold as ice. Let his emotions be burnt away.

He didn't even feel himself picking up the arrow, lining it up to the ventre, and loosing it.

Thus, when finally opened his eyes and found out the arrow had hit the middle ring, he spared himself a smile.

* * *

Haakon took a breath of wonder as he saw Alfyn Stalwart's javelin fly across the stadium, landing itself right across the stadium, poking slightly further than Galen's shaft, though Dirk was able to put his ahead of all others.

Unlike the little bout of archery, every contestant gets a single chance to throw - which raises the stakes by quite a lot. And this just happened to be the part where Haakon was unprepared - the part where accuracy mattered not was irksome, to say the least.

The otterlord's name was called, and Haakon stepped up, wasting no time in grabbing the javelin from the container holding them. Taking care to heft them in one paw, Haakon bolted, pulling the final paw-motion off a bit too early, and just stood there with his mouth agape as the stick landed a few feet away from the others.

He was to be last in this struggle if he did not happen to swim fast enough.

For Bellamy, watching in the stands is a horrible thing. The tension was crackling in the air, and both of her champions, official or not, were solidly in the lead. Alfyn was as well, and somehow Sverker Crestworth was not in last place.

The suitors (and the champion) were not to swim a slight distance, and Bellamy felt fortunate that she could have full control over the events. Swimming would drag down Alfyn's huge and cumbersome body, and somebeast more lightly built would triumph. Bellamy could only hope that somebeast will be to her liking.

"You were wise to pick this event." Lorcan Stalwart complimented. Her father was a fool to invite him to sit next to him - a gesture of respect or intimidation. She could not tell. Now, all the two males did were talk about Alfyn, Bellamy and the tournament's end results. Lord Becker was protecting his legacy, yes, but he could have done so without compromising her happiness.

"She's not stupid, you know." Becker smiled faintly. Since the fighting was over, he had never openly laughed, but he desperately clung on to his smile. It, alongside his daughter and his duty, was amongst the only things he held dear left to him.

"I know that." Lorcan dipped his head in thought. The otters below were preparing to enter the water, diving in one by one. "I don't know who will emerge victorious - not at all."

"That is fully and completely normal, Lord Stalwart." Bellamy could hardly hold in her sarcasm. "I do suppose it is not called a competition for nothing."

"Bellamy." A stern word came from her father's mouth. "Now is not the time to pick a fight."

"I understand, father." The ottermaid nodded. Now was no time to antagonise anyone. "So who had you placed your bets on?"

"I still think my brother will probably be victorious," Lorcan said, blunt as always. "He has been preparing for this for quite some time."

"Don't be so certain, Lord Stalwart." Becker said. "This is a tournament, so anything could happen here."

Lorcan sighed. "You should have stuck to your original plan and got Parma on your side."

"Original plan?" Bellamy asked, stunned. It did not take long until Lorcan's countenance revealed that he said something he should not have.

"I did not use it for a reason, Bells." Becker's voice was rougher than usual.

"To be honest, I am very much curious." Bellamy put a paw upon her chin. "It surely is not that important, is it?"

Becker put his paw up to his face. "It was a bad plan."

"Now I really want to know."

Becker took a deep breath. "My original idea was to marry you to King Niels across the sea."

Bellamy sat still for a few moments before she opened her mouth. "That- that's not too bad. Better than Alfyn. Why did you scrap it?"

"At first I considered. You would make for a good - a great queen, Bells. I never doubted you. His terms were good to - your second born heir will keep the Swalestrom name, and the dowry was not anything significant." Lord Becker sighed. "Then I thought of your mother. What would she think if I married you to an otter twice your age? Then your three brothers…"

"Everything will be fine, Father. All is well. Mother and Garrion and Godred and Bedric will not be happy that you're still mourning. They would want you to smile, and enjoy the tournament."

Wiping off a stray tear or two, Becker forced a smile. "They would. They would indeed."

"I am sure they would." Lorcan added. "I may have never known my parents, but they would have liked to see me happy. The same would apply to you, Lady Bellamy. It is a good thing for you to love your father, marriage or not."

"Thank you." For once, Bellamy offered some semblance of feelings to Lord Lorcan. _Why couldn't he be born second? Why had he married, and not his brother?_

"Hey look!" Becker pointed a claw at the water. "One of them has climbed out!"

Bellamy squinted, and saw the semblance of an otter emerging from the pool. It was not Alfyn - the figure was too small for him to be a Stalwart.

Sverker Crestworth emerged triumphant, and if he was like the way Bellamy knew him, with a smile on his face.

* * *

Four beasts remained, and Dirk was one of them.

Alfyn Stalwart was another. The tall otter had performed well in all three tasks beforepaw, though he had won out in neither of them, it was enough to see him enter the round in which he specialised in - combat. Being the hulking brute that he was, Dirk should have a hard time facing him.

On the other paw, the other contestants did not need to fight for Dirk to know the victor. Sverker Crestworth was not the fittest of fighters, and Galen would see himself pull through without a shadow of a doubt. Bellamy's original betrothed has little chance of gaining her paw.

The champion took to the right side of the ring, while the suitor moved towards the left. The rules were simple - no weapons, no biting or unsheathed claws, no throwing dirt and no attacking of the groin area. The hedgehog also took great pains to announce that even the slightest body part outside the thirty-pace circle shall result in disqualification, and a beast who was unresponsive after ten seconds as well.

Alfyn gave a quick bow, and Dirk saw fit to follow suit. A Trielian's courtesy is not that easily granted, and Dirk thought for a single moment that this one is not so bad. At least he seems to be better than the others.

"Begin!" the hedgehog's paws flapped by his sides, like a beast doing a poor impression of a bird soaring through the skies.

Alfyn moved quickly, charging right into Dirk, fist held up high into the air. But the smaller otter quickly spun away, clipping Alfyn's leg in the process. Undaunted, the otterlord spun around and solidly planted a punch into thin air, Dirk having sped away in the meantime.

The larger otter panted for a split second, and charged right into the fray once more, fist slamming into Dirk's guard as the lithe otter let go. Alfyn's paw pursued - and he immediately lost his balance.

Sensing the opportunity, Dirk swung at Alfyn's face. The otter, taller he might have been, had no chance of blocking the blow, so his muzzle swerved to the right - and connected with the lowborn's fist with a sickening crunch.

Alfyn took a deep breath and steadied himself, only to find that a foot of his was outside the circle. The force of Dirk's blow made him stagger back, and one little loss of balance was enough to tip the scales.

Turning around, Dirk saw Galen and Galen alone standing in the ring. A little turn of the shoulder was enough to observe Sverker being carried away on a stretcher.

The final match commences now, and he had to fight his friend.

* * *

"Next!" the hedgehog shouted again, the crowd falling into silence. "Next, we have Galen Snowpath against Dirk Tillwaters, the maiden's champion!"

Galen calmly walked up to the ring as Dirk approached from the other side. He was tired now, Galen was sure of it. Alfyn Stalwart must have given him a tough fight, and his aggressive style did not help matters. Galen, on the other paw, was mostly fresh.

"Now, let it begin!"

"Without any sound, Dirk surged forth, wheeling forward and kicking, only for Galen's paw to block his attempted assault on his side. Still, the elder otter was not attacking - not yet.

Dirk spun back and rebalanced himself, and slammed into his friend's guard once more. This time, Galen could not say that he was unprepared - he had used both paws to stop that blow instead of one. He dared not think about the consequences of a broken defence.

Dirk wheeled backwards again as Galen went into another defensive position. The two otters looked into each other's eyes before Dirk moved.

But this time, he was not the only one.

As Dirk charged forward, he realised too late that Galen was doing the same. The defence was a ruse. Before the Swordbeast could react, Galen's elbow had slammed into his muzzle, and a punch followed. Keeping his balance after that was not a possibility, and soon he was on the ground, the entire left side of his body across the border.

Galen had won, and he knew what to do next.

Sprinting towards the box holding the Swalestroms (alongside one otter Galen had never met), Galen Snowpath knelt.

"Lady Bellamy Swalestrom, I thank you for your patience, wisdom and bravery in the face of danger. You are a pillar of strength and dedication to the beasts close to you, and I am fortunate to be included. You demand nothing of me, but I am indebted to you for your affection which you had given to me. There is much I desire to tell you, though I cannot do so without it sounding false and hollow. I may not give you what you want every single day, but I will give you happiness. Bellamy, could you please marry me?"

Deliberation was in the ottermaid's eyes, while the two next to her were confused - they had not foreseen it. Galen had won the tournament, and he was not the champion - Bellamy had to marry him.

But Galen believed in choices, and he would offer them.

Bellamy slowly rose up from her seat, as elegant as any lady could. Then she smiled.

"Yes. Yes I would."

* * *

**Chapter 47 (_Calling_) will be up on 23/24 February!**


	47. Calling

**Calling**

* * *

**LEAMONDE, KINGDOM OF VALNAIN, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA**

For Renart, time had always been an old enemy.

Of all his seasons, where he took advantage of events he could not control, and where he managed to hold on to power wherever he could. It would be hard for a mere vermin to gain a lordship anywhere in the world, but Renart managed as always.

But now, he had gambled his position away. Instead of being crowned King over Valnain, he had to witness the situation slip out of his paws ever so slowly. That was the problem - it all happened too slowly, and he could salvage nothing.

"For all your smugness, you are not that sly." Lord Guido sneered. Renart had no idea if he was a Portmaster or a Lord Mayor, and he cared not.

"I suppose that is indeed the case." Renart took a deep breath, and had a tiny sip of wine. Guido had been trying to prod him into making a mistake ever since he had arrived, to varying degrees of failure.

_What good would Raimon on the Valnainer throne do him? Valnainers know nothing of him. The only advantage the mouse could glean out of the whole muck was that Renart _wasn't _king._

The mouse laughed shrilly. "You are defeated, fox. We have scattered your hopes. Mayhaps you can try to plant your rump on a throne after thirty seasons or so."

The fox's smile faded, only to reappear into a laugh. "Perhaps I can try. Perhaps vermin can try. We try hard, we fail, we try again. We take from you and you regain what you have taken. But one day, you and your heroics will shiver and quake and our might - vermin might. For no matter how powerful your steel or how just your cause, there will be a time where it will be not enough, that you will slip and fall. For what you impose, we will overturn!"

As if the timing was right, the door was pushed open, revealing an otter, who did not look as young as Raimon, nor did he possess the scars of Maurice. Niels Crestworth, King of Otharn knew how to make an entrance.

"You!" Guido cried out.

"I would much rather skip the formalities, shameless traitor." For the first time in what seemed like forever, the otterking smiled for Renart to see. "It is a good idea on paper to come here, though Parman intelligence has its advantages."

"What have you done now?" Guido rose to his footpaws while Renart smiled yet again. Suddenly his wine tasted much sweeter.

"Nothing much. I merely paid this wonderful land a visit and convinced the Valnainer Assembly to vote for me as their new king. I will be absent from this land for most of my 'reign', and I am not known for strength. They love me, mouse, and you have no power over them anymore."

"How?"

"You forgot that you're not the only beast around here who can enter and exit realms as he desires. Now go away. To whatever realm that may house you. But remember this one thing." Niels looked right into Guido's eyes. "Where you go, Parma shall follow."

Guido took the hint and bravely fled, with Niels lodging himself in the mouse's empty seat. Then he collapsed with a sigh.

"That was quite the close shave." Renart remarked. "Your impression of King Thordan was all too impressive."

The king winked. "I learned from the very best."

* * *

**FLORET, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD**

"So it is decided," Lorcan sighed. "For a reduction of the indemnity by a quarter, and the cancellation of the war reparations, Orience goes to Southsward."

"That is what we have planned." Lord Becker nodded at Lorcan's proposal, while General Ralos followed suit. They seemed wary of asking too much of the Trielians, which was good. King Garmund shall surely be displeased at Lorcan's actions, having given Trielian territory away, but the less of Trielian finances sent to Southsward, the better. Gold is the oil that turns the wheel that is politics. And Vega Burelas had given her personal approval to marrying Prince Darian after a few pages of written persuasion from Lorcan himself. No need for a tournament from the Boreller maiden.

"Allow me to check the Treaty again." King Gideon took a big gulp of his wine. The squirrelking was a smug sort, not unlike Duke Randyll back home. But then, he had experience on his side, which Lorcan struggled to combat. Beasts may be killed, and gold may be squandered, knowledge is the best resource one might ever hope to possess.

"We, Garmund, by Seasons' Grace King of Triel does wish to make known to the world that his desire to create this everlasting peace between his realm and the Kingdom of Southsward." That, to Lorcan's knowledge, was a lie, though not for him to reveal. His king had often raved about reasserting their dominance on the world stage soon enough, and Lorcan could only hope that less blood shall be shed if it comes to that. "Whereas, we and some of our predecessors, Kings of Triel, have endeavoured to establish rights of rule or dominion or superiority over the realm of Southsward, whence dire conflicts of wars waged have afflicted for a long time the Kingdoms of Triel and Southsward: we, having regard to the slaughter, disasters, crimes, destruction and evils innumerable which, in the course of such wars, have repeatedly befallen the subjects of both realms, and to the wealth with which each realm, if united by the assurance of perpetual peace, might abound to their mutual advantage, thereby rendering them more secure against the hurtful efforts of those conspiring to rebel or to attack, whether from within or without-" The king coughed. "We will and grant by these presents, for us, our heirs and successors whatsoever, with the common advice, assent and consent of-" Within a second, the King of Southsward was grabbing at his throat, feebly wheezing and collapsing onto the floor.

"No!" Lorcan screamed.

"Somebeast help him!" Becker knelt in front of his liege and gently held his neck, hoping to do something, anything. But it was too late. The poison had taken effect. Blood flowed from his nose, mouth and even his eyes, and Lorcan could hear himself twitch, though not as much as the corpse of the once-king in front of him.

Sigrid's killer had struck once more and anyone could have been behind the act.

* * *

**VARGO, LORDSHIP OF VARGO, KINGDOM OF OTHARN, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA**

"You seem to be late." Skuli's smile was surprisingly absent when he looked at his son. The Southpaws were glad to be at home, and Arn possessed the presence of mind to return to his old house at once.

"I am, Father." Arn knew he made mistakes, and Skuli was willing to forgive him. But now was not the right time. For forgiveness, at least.

"Southsward got Egil _and _King Thordan!" Skuli fumed, while Arn cowered to the side. Knighthood does not signify the absence of fear, and it is perfectly normal to fear the ones closest to you. "Not only are my plans ruined, but one of us has been taken!"

"They will not kill Egil, father." Eskil was Skuli's firstborn, and he could boast that he was a better student than Skuli was a teacher. "They'll just force a ransom out, and Egil will be free."

"I know that!" The oldest weasel snapped, and it was Eskil's time to shiver with fear. "But if they just try to extort more than he is worth from us? What if he talks his way into the grave? Gates, I should never have tried to gamble on Erlend Swalestrom!"

"Father!" Arn shouted. "Egil can still be saved! If the Southards wanted him dead, then he would be dead already!"

Skuli forced a deep breath, then silently nodded. "You're right, son. The Southards have never been friends to us vermin, and banking on Young Thordan was a horrible miscalculation. At least King Niels has taken no action against us for now."

Before Arn could attempt to change the subject, Eskil had already decided to do it for his brother. "Arn's getting married."

"Oh! I forgot that!" Skuli was surprised, this time pleasantly. "I've heard good things about the maid. Know her father too."

Arn raised a question. "So, Father, are you fine with that?"

Skuli smiled. "I did promise you that you could marry anybeast you desire all those seasons before, and I will not break a promise."

"No, I meant the timing. I should have done it after the family's together, and-"

"Egil won't mind." Eskil put a paw on top of his brother's shoulder. "He'll be happy for you, so don't worry that much!"

"Eskil's right." Skuli finally smiled. "Treasure the happy moments. And I suppose you cannot let Lord Corrado down, can't you?"

"Huh?" Arn was puzzled as always.

"Some noble has to help us vermin, Thordan or not. Why not befriend his brother?"

* * *

**FLORET, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD**

"Can you hear me? Anyone?"

Thordan was once again in his dreams - he could tell by him floating in that blasted void again. But this time there was a voice pestering him. It was too high to be Dagbert's, and not as hoarse as his grandfather's. To be honest, Thordan never heard this one before.

"Yes." Thordan responded. "You are heard, whoever you may be."

"Where I am?" The voice chuckled, his voice completely mirthless. Thordan tried to take a step back, only to slip back into the void, remembering too late that he wasn't standing on anything.. "I have been trapped here for Vulpuz knows how long. There, you see? Emptiness, as always. I feel right at home."

Thordan shook his head. "You don't seem to like home." The otter wished for somewhere to stand on, and within a second he was on a cracked platform, black as pitch. "Why are you even in my dream?"

"I saw the light in the distance, and the shadows you cast as you walked through." The voice still was no closer to Thordan than before. "My heart has been fractured, otter. I can do little."

"Then I'll help you." Thordan offered the voice a smile. It would be nice to perform one last act of kindness before Southsward disposes of him. "Whatever it takes."

"We shall become one then." Scarcely a second had passed when light, blinding light seeped into the void, and Thordan squinted. When his vision cleared, the platform was whole, with stained halves. The lighter half depicted a fox, unarmed, eyes closed and plummeting into the lower part of the circle. He was dressed in clothing that seemed to be too large for him, and he curled behind the other figure - a thin, handsome otter, holding a beautifully forged sword with a red-rubied pommel, with tendrils of shadow behind him that coalesced into a beast. His gaze was apprehensive, and he seemed to be resolute, even if he was on the darker half.

"Thank you, kind one." A figure walked into the complete circle, bathed in blinding light that seemed to dim over time. "I promise that I'll repay you once I will be able to." A closer observation revealed that the figure was a fox, with his eyes covered with a ragged cloth. It did not take long to see that he looked not the same from the one on the ground, as he was taller and thinner.

"What's your name, fox?" The otter asked, to which the fox sadly shook his head.

"I don't have one yet. They took mine from me. Can you give me one?"

Thordan gasped. "How can a name be taken from you?"

"My eyesight was not the only thing they wrenched away from me." The fox's voice was shaky.

"How about I give you a new name?" Thordan asked before mentally slapping himself. _Surely there are better moments than this to interrupt?_

The fox opened his mouth again. "That would be very kind of you, sir."

Thordan sighed in relief. "How does Erlend sound?"

"Erlend?"

"It was my father's name. He was a kind beast, and he cared about me. Sometimes." _Though it would have been better for the both of us if he happened to show his affections more._

"Erlend. Erlend." The fox scratched his head. He seemed to know the name, for one reason or another.

"It was nice talking to you, Erlend. I'm Thordan, by the way. King Thordan of Dravania, whatever the Southards say."

"Thordan… Dravania…" Erlend the fox collapsed upon his knees as his voice trailed away.

* * *

**ARNET, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF TRIEL**

Lord Valdemar Crestworth knew much of secrets, but not much of secret _missions_. Especially one he had undertaken without the knowledge of any of his peers or superiors.

But here he was, Arnet, capital of Triel. While is would be hard to deny that it was basically a copy of Southsward's Floret, it managed to better its rival, with its castles larger than any other in the Southern Realms.

And here he was, in front of the greatest king of the three kingdoms. "It is a genuine pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty."

"The pleasure is all mine, Lord Valdemar." King Garmund of Triel was an imposing giant of a mouse, not born that way like the Stalwart twins, but a byproduct of his warring lifestyle. "Now what are you here for?"

"An alliance?" Garmund was nonchalant towards the request. "I thought Parma frowned on our practices while keeping their obligations. Or had they decided that change was in order?"

"Parma can be shafted off to the side in the time being." Valdemar was speaking truth for once. "I come on Doman accord, and not for any 'greater good'."

"A private matter, I take it." Garmund was doing his best to ignore the otterlord - a situation Valdemar shall seek to remedy.

"Not so." Valdemar's voice was as firm as Garmund's. "Niels is not a strong beast, mentally or physically. King or slave, those who are born servile exist only to serve. But who he would serve is a mystery. Could it be Queen Lorelei down south, perhaps sealed with a marriage? Or could it be Lord Guido, ending a war that had plagued Parma for so long?"

"Be direct and tell me what you are implying, Lord Crestworth." Valdemar bit back the rest of his monologue. It shall seem that King Garmund was a beast more like him than first thought, who hated words and preferred action.

It was the directness of the action which happened to be the only difference between the two. While the Trielian king was a friend to his axe and all that stood in his way, preferring open war to the much less bloody (but more gruesome) business known as courtly intrigue. Valdemar was not direct in any sense of the world. The shadows were his abode as much as it was King Thordan's, though the latter never respected him until it was almost too late for the king. His father never managed to understand subtlety, and ended up with a stab wound to the chest to show for it. Valdemar could only wish that Niels could undo what his predecessor had ruined, while he was a mere advisor.

"I propose that if King Niels fails to fulfil his obligations to Parma, you or one of your sons will be ready for the role." Valdemar smiled at Garmund's deliberation. The High Kingdom of Parma contains within itself a slow-acting poison, and only he held the cure.

"That would be treason." Garmund was slow to react, as usual, but once he did he was forceful.

"The only way a rebellion is not treason is when it succeeds," Valdemar spoke softly. "And it's not even a rebellion when we are having. We only need to purchase the duties of two more electors. Plain and simple."

"I do doubt that he would simply _let _us depose him." Garmund quipped. "He is not the most voluntary of rulers, yes, but the Parmans do enjoy his rule. I would much rather wait." That was not a sentence the King of Triel often said, but this is not the most usual of circumstances.

"Besides, Lorelei has so far been a loyal vassal to me." A simple sentence was able to shake Valdemar back to reality. "And you have been too busy trying to see her out of power for the last decades. That attempted Southard alliance was quite distasteful as well.

Valdemar muttered something non-committal. He had forgotten that Garmund was not the sort of beast to simply bury his grudges. "What will happen if Lorelei controlled Parma? I do have to wonder. Will she still be loyal to you and Triel, or will she be her usual headstrong self?"

"What are you implying?"

"I simply mean to secure you a Parman ally to continue the struggle against Southsward." Valdemar continued, attempting to refrain from lying. "Your last attempt at securing a puppet on the Dravain throne ended up in a failure because Parma was disinterested in sending either beasts or gold for your cause."

"You speak well, Lord Valdemar." Garmund nodded twice. "I shall consider your offer most patiently, and we shall see what happens next."

* * *

**FLORET, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD**

Trying to sleep after waking up in the middle of the night was never hard for Thordan, but the otter twisted and turned. Erlend the fox tried talking to him since they had met a few minutes ago, but all Thordan heard was gibberish.

All of a sudden, Thordan heard a tiny sound, hardly a sound, but Thordan heard it nonetheless. Perhaps an insect had stepped on something? But insects' breaths cannot be heard…

"Egil!" Thordan cried. "Is that you?" Mayhaps the door between the cells had been unlocked, but what use for secrecy was there? For what reason would Egil come to him so silently? No. No. It had to be something else.

"Egil!" Thordan sat up in his pallet, hearing another breath emanating from the left. It had to be the left. "Who's there?" he cried once more.

Silence returned, but Thordan knew that he was no longer alone. He was holding within himself a panic, a deep panic, the sort of panic a best would possess a beast who knew that he was to die. Still worse was the agony of not knowing one's killer, not knowing which part of his body will be attacked, and most prominent of all - that horrible, invisible presence, closing on him by the wall second after second.

A weight suddenly hurled itself upon the bed. Erlend chose now to scream within Thordan's mind, as Thordan uttered a cry that Egil Skulason, on the storey above, was never to forget.

* * *

**Chapter 48 (_Epilogue_) will be up on 26/27 February.**


	48. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

* * *

**FLORET, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD**

Alfyn walked up the tower. Running was beneath him, at least for now.

He remembered Raevsvakt well, almost as if it was but yesterday's events. But over nine months had passed, and much had changed. The lack of swiftness in Alfyn's pawsteps reflected that well.

Another was the beasts accompanying him. Denebas Burelas was not a stranger like Egil once was, but he served the same purpose here. To protect Alfyn as he protected the squirrel, and to serve as Alfyn's conscience. Sigrun Swalestrom proved to be the same sort.

Not that he needed one anymore. He had to say that he had grown inside. His experiences with Thordan and Egil have taught him much, the latter especially. The fact that a vermin could have morals was new to him - Egil proved to be not the best example, but still. Triel's practice of keeping tens of thousands of vermin slaves seemed less appealing after that.

"You seem deep in thought," Sigrun said, stopping alongside the tall otter, while the squirrel's footpaws grinded to a halt as well.

"Yes." Alfyn paused, then spoke again. "I suppose this rings similar to Raevsvakt, but whatever. Thordan still needs to be rescued every few months, so at least this didn't change."

"I should have sensed a pattern." Denebas said as he nodded. "I got the feeling that I don't have to stab anybeast again."

"Hopefully not." To be fair to Alfyn, this rescue was smaller in scale. He had managed to free his two companions with the sheets of paper Dagbert the mole had given him, and Egil would not be so different. The otter had no idea why the Archivist would help him, but all help was appreciated. Besides, the fewer questions asked, the better.

Walking up to the second floor was a muted affair - Alfyn did not even have to pant. All he had to do was find the nearest guard and talk to him. No mass distractions, no guard-slaughtering, no lord-stabbing. So why was he still expressing trepidation?

"Hey! You!" The head guard, an otter like always, quickly turned his head towards Lord Alfyn. "What are you doing here, Lord Stalwart? I thought you were to leave after the tournament! Or are you too irritated by your humiliating defeat for you to leave?"

"I do not mean to cause trouble, honourable guardsbeast." Alfyn bowed his head, making sure Sigrun and Denebas were out of sight. "I only seek to liberate two prisoners on the good will of King Darian. After all, he will be crowned in a month."

"That would be the false king and his freak, right?" The otter scoffed while Alfyn winced."'Let me check your documents."

Alfyn obliged as he smiled, thinking back when Dagbert carefully placed the royal seal on the documents, 'lent' to him by an unknowing royal. "Heard that the Boreller's going free too."

"I don't really know," the guard admitted. "Heard that his sister's going to be queen soon, so that is plausible." The otterguard looked at the forged documents once again. "No problem with these. You may pick them up."

"Thank you." Alfyn grinned behind the guard's back. He had gone a long way since the days when he thought with his sword.

"Oh, but only the weasel." The guard seemed not to fear the taller and stronger otter - he was no Bertil. Still, he was determined to defy Alfyn, which never worked out well.

"Why?"

The guard's tone was matter-of-fact. "Lord Becker's nephew's gone."

'What?' Alfyn's tone was another matter. "How?"

"He just disappeared. We made sure he slept, but the next morning he was not there." The guard turned upwards and shouted to the guards posted above. "Get the weasel down!"

Within a minute, the disheveled form of Egil was dragged down by two otterguards that seemed angry. After all, they had to put up with a vermin - a _very _specific vermin -for most of a month. Even Thordan would be exhausted and a bit miffed, to say the least.

"Take your vermin and go. Floret doesn't need vermin filth inside its walls." The guards then walked down the stairs, having no prisoners to guard anymore. If they had looked towards the right at the correct moment, they would have spotted an ottermaid and a squirrelknight hiding behind a pillar. But they did not.

"They've killed him." Egil shook his head, eyes crimson from weeping. "They've killed Thordan."

"Killed?" The world seemed to shake around Alfyn, and a look from Sigrun indicated that her concern far outweighed his. "No. That will not be possible. King Gideon would, maybe, but his son will not. He's too kind for that."

"I heard him scream last night." Egil rushed his words. "He's gone missing, and that cannot be a simple coincidence!"

"Indeed it is not."

The four turned to the voice, speaking from the room which used to hold Thordan. "Slyte often has this effect on beasts."

The voice belonged to a mole, who happened to look like Dagbert. Still, it could be easily observed that he was much younger, and he had two iconic swords strapped to his back. The fact that he had no glove on his right paw was a subtler clue - Alfyn didn't know why Dagbert even needed that.

"So what happened?" Alfyn had never seen Egil this nervous before, and he could say that he was a little afraid as well. "Tell us now!"

"A pinch of patience can help you for your entire life." Arbert the mole deflected the question. "My brother told me that. But still, Thordan is perfectly alive, if not perfectly well."

Alfyn put a paw upon his sword. "What have you done to him?"

"We helped him escape certain death in Floret, though we have failed to notify him beforepaw. Hence the surprise." Arbert nodded at his own statements. "We have much to work on in our planning, but it matters not. Come here, all of you."

Alfyn proceeded to do so, and took in the surroundings of Thordan's cell. The smell was not particularly good, and there was a single window, scarcely enough for illuminating the whole room. But what caught his eyes was the window in the centre of the room that seemed to lead to somewhere else.

Arbert too realised their confusion. "What? Never seen a Pathway before? Oh. Right. I mean, one of you has seen one, but she's been Pressured."

Alfyn rubbed his chin as Arbert went on and on about stuff few would have heard of. _What's the mole talking about anyway? Has he gone insane?_

Taking a deep breath, the mole finally saw fit to stop rambling. "As we pass through this door, you will be free. The other side is Redwall Abbey, which Thordan would have told you about more than once, I believe."

"Wait a second." Sigrun spoke next. "How do you know if you're telling the truth?"

Arbert turned around, surprise lingering on his face for a mere second before his face turned back to stone. "You don't." He pointed at the portal again. "Now go. The Gates of Redwall are open to all, and Thordan will not be far away."

Alfyn quickly thanked the mole, then turned to his friends. "Let's get moving then."

* * *

"You should not have killed him." Becker grimaced at the squirrel. "Regicide is sacrilegious and is generally frowned upon."

"I did that for the good of the realm." General Ralos was franker than usual, with no understatement or hyperbole. "And is that a pun I smell at the end? With 'generally'."

"That was not intentional." Becker's face betrayed his penchant for whimsical humour before swiftly returning to something more serious. "You could have ruined the peace completely if you were caught!"

"But I was not." The squirrel sighed. "I didn't want that. I never wanted King Gideon to die. But he was dead set on executing Thordan Swalestrom and punishing Triel. Southsward will fall to Parma if he gets his way."

Becker tried to say something, but his throat failed him. Ralos, like always, was right. "You didn't try hard enough to persuade him. We failed Southsward."

"We did not!" The squirrel banged a paw on the table. "The realm is more safe than ever before. Parma has a weak king, and Triel's yoke has been shattered. We simply need a few seasons of peace - the more the better."

"Fifteen seasons." Becker stood up. "Do you think that it will be enough?"

Ralos nodded. "All shall be well. The Trielians will only break the peace if they had the ability to. Garmund is no fool, and you are going to take over Dravania as Viceroy while Galen takes over as Skipper."

"Half of it, anyway." Becker smiled. "Lower Dravania's mine to look after, while Upper Dravania will be left to Lorents. A divided Dravania is easier to manage - I do not know why they were even held together in the first place. Gates, they even speak different languages!"

Ralos agreed. "It is quite hard to imagine Erlend's whelp being the last king of Dravania. Kingdoms do not usually perish with a whimper."

Becker nodded absent-mindedly. His brother's letter had been quite descriptive in both predictions and insults. A change of subjects should be in order. "What will you be doing in the meantime? Southsward's army needs rebuilding."

The old general smiled. "I suppose one last triumph of mine should be enough for me to procure a retirement. I've seen and sown enough death."

"Wish I could say the same." Becker yawned. The night was encroaching upon the world again, and sleep would prove welcome. He had faith in his daughter and her husband, and he would need the same faith for himself.

"One thing." Ralos lifted up a claw, and Becker turned his head. "Rest well, knowing that your children did not die in vain."

* * *

**DEILART, DUCHY OF DEILART, KINGDOM OF TRIEL**

"It is our pleasure that you have finally appeared, Your Highness." Lady Morag curtsied at the otterqueen, who tried her best to smile at the squirrelwife.

Both Lorelei and Morag could only count herself lucky that Altayras was gone to Burelas, to pack up his sister's belongings for her wedding, and to make a few more preparations. He, unlike his sister, was never good with beasts, though he made putting his footpaw into the mouths of other beasts something less like a mistake and more resembling an art form.

"Your sincerity is greatly appreciated." Lorelei proceeded to do the same. "I come here not on Garlean accord, or Thavnair business, but it is something of a more personal issue." Morag, as most young beasts do, was quite familiar with _personal _business, but Lorelei had no intention of pulling an Altayras.

"Business of what sort?" Duke Domnall was ever infirm, so Morag had to run a duchy for him - which seemed to diminish the chances of her having her 'fun'. "It is with my husband, right?"

"No." Lorelei shook her head. 'It is something he should never know about, especially if you remain silent. "Have you lied in the near past? Do you even recall ever lying?"

"Not really," the squirrel shook her head. "No. Why lie when the truth is so much more fun?"

Lorelei nodded. "You have a point. The truth is far more interesting than any lie one could conjure up. Lies are impossible for a stable mind. But there is another reason for your - for_ our _inability to lie at all."

"What would that be?" Morag was her usual inquisitive self, earning Lorelei a chuckle.

The otterqueen recalled a warm spring day in Vargo, her father and Isangrim at a chessboard, where she learned about what she was to say. "Both of us are bound to the truth, Lady Morag. Both of us are seers."

"Seers?" Morag wondered aloud. "They're just vermin tales, fantasies and superstitions, right?"

Lorelei scoffed. She had had these thoughts long ago. "It is very apparent that they are completely genuine." She lifted up a paw, housed tightly within a gauntlet. Her Shadowbringers have been unused for too long.

"This is an Augmenter. It allows you to do things the world has never seen before, but only if you have the power to Conjure."

The squirrel looked at Lorelei blankly. "I do not understand."

Lorelei took a deep breath. Were all Trielians that dense? Was this why leaving Thordan here in Triel turned him into what he was like today? _Perhaps. But I will not lose my temper. Not now. _"Nobody does in the beginning. Allow me to show you a figment of its power."

The otterqueen swiftly embraced Conjuration, delaying its effects to emphasise them. Slowly, a glow of red light blazed through the gauntlet, earning a gasp from the squirrel. Then green and blue light pierced through the darkness, and Morag was in awe.

"That was incredible!" Morag sat still, still amazed by what had passed.

"And you can do it as well." Lorelei smiled as gently as she could. "Once your pregnancy is over."

"I'm with child?" The squirrel seemed surprised.

"A male." Lorelei may be no healer, but a Conjurer she was, and she was taught to observe the smallest details by both her parents. "The mark of a Conjurer. We can only bear sons while male seers can only sire daughters."

"But Altayras-"

"Will not know anything if we do not let him know anything." Lorelei helped the squirrel complete her sentence. "It is in our interests to keep everything secret. You do know how to keep a secret, do you not?"

Morag nodded. "What can we do? As Conjurers or seers or whatevers?"

"Conjuration has the ability to control Earth, Wind and Water. While less destructive than vermin Thaumaturgy, we have the gift of subtlety. We are also better healers than they are, and we can use Veils and Pressures."

"I think I lost you long ago…" A glance to the left indicated that Morag was still more confused than ever.

"Don't worry." Lorelei smiled for the third time. "You may have much to learn, but time is on our side for now. Wait and see."

* * *

**THE RIFT**

Thordan needed to stop waking up in the Rift. He didn't know how many times he had done it, but he did know that every time that happened was outside of his control.

He recalled getting unpleasantly startled by a figure, then having the consciousness choked out of him, all while he tried to scream with limited effect. Even Erlend screamed louder than him.

"I see Slyte had done his job well." Thordan turned his head right towards a one-pawed mole. Before Thordan could do anything to his old tormentor, he felt Conjuration being cut off abruptly from him. Erlend fled within his mind, screaming. Thordan may not be braver than the fox, but the vermin had no rage to sustain his dwindling courage.

"You." A single syllable was Thordan's response. "You do not know when to quit, do you not?"

Dagbert sighed. "I mean you no harm at all, Young Thordan. I simply mean to free you from your captivity. Your friends have already been liberated."

"You do not seem capable of mercy to Southsward's enemies." Thordan said. "I simply do not know why you're here. Why help me?"

Dagbert, in true Archivist fashion, deflected the question with a random statement. "From this moment on, you are no longer a pawn in my game. Rest assured that I still have further motives, though for more altruistic reasons."

"So what am I to do now?" Thordan felt Erlend crawl back out from his hiding place. "Forgive you for my abduction, then hope that good things happen to me ever since?"

"Your intuition surprises me." Dagbert smiled. "Worry not. I will not harm you if you refuse to do so, of course. Nor will I harm those close to you because of your follies."

"Then I simply refuse to do so." Thordan crossed his paws. "Forgiveness would have to wait, when I'm older and wiser, perhaps. Or you're older and deader."

Dagbert sighed. "In that case, I would have to apologise again." A Pathway materialised behind Thordan's back. "Not for the Viksten incident - I already did that - but for separating you from your friends yet again."

"Wait-" Thordan could do nothing as Dagbert flicked his paw, sending the otter back into the world of the waking.

* * *

**KURBURG, KINGDOM OF OTHARN, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA**

Thordan sipped his cup of tea.

Having to masquerade as his own son was humiliating enough, but tea? That was downright degrading. Surely something alcoholic will be fitting? But then, he was no longer the most powerful ruler in this world, nor the head of an interdimensional organisation. He was just an illegitimate son of an otter of some note.

A pity his successor preferred the vile drink.

"You say that you're King Thordan's son that nobeast had ever heard about?" Niels had grown up from an inquisitive child to an inquisitive king, and Thordan always carried a slight bit of regret about raising him that way.

"I am descended from king Thordan." Thordan spoke that half-truth as naturally as he breathed. He had merely declined to specify which Thordan he was talking about. "My name being the same is quite the clue."

"Well, Thordan Heavensward, I do have one thing to ask."King Niels Crestworth was calm for once, probably thinking that he was in control of the situation. "Picture this. A vermin stashes away a golden coin, then asks a woodlander to search for it. Why? What could his intentions possibly be?"

"A riddle?" Thordan smirked. "It is not exactly the thing I need. But there are many possibilities, Your Highness. Perhaps he had forgotten where it's hidden."

Niels rubbed his chin. "He could be playing a prankster's game as well."

"Or that the coin has truly gone missing." Thordan shrugged. "Guessing is useless."

"It could also be that the vermin and the woodlander are but testing each other, or a simple misunderstanding may have occurred." Niels proved to be enjoying this. "But there happens to be more _interesting _reasons. In this case, the woodlander, the vermin and the coin are simply one and the same." The otterking smirked. "Who are you really, Emetselk?"


End file.
